


Through the Gate

by Brumeier



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Episode Related, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-14
Updated: 2014-04-05
Packaged: 2017-11-25 11:15:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 96,935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/638305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brumeier/pseuds/Brumeier
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of SGA stand-alone fics, some AU, some not. Just a mixed bag of whatever strikes the fancy of my mercurial muse, heavy on the McShep.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The List

**Author's Note:**

  * For [smiles2go](https://archiveofourown.org/users/smiles2go/gifts).



> **Standard Disclaimer:** Don’t own the characters or the world they inhabit. If I did, there would’ve been much more on screen smooching. ::grins::

Rodney kept a list in his head, carefully documented and foot-noted and for himself only. No-one else would understand, they’d just look at him like he was even weirder than usual. He hated that the list kept growing, but at the same time he was incredibly grateful every time he added a new entry.

_Times When John Sheppard Cheated Death_

It was a morbid fascination, one he’d been able to push to the back of his very cluttered mind most days. He certainly had plenty to do to occupy his not-inconsiderable intellect, what with off-world missions and building defenses against the Wraith and working out what Ancient devices might be useful if only he could figure them out.

Then John would do something else insane, or something ridiculously heroic, and all Rodney could do while he waited was pull out the list and hope that this time, this stunt, wouldn’t be the last. He’d stand in the Gate Room or the Jumper Bay or some backwater planet with his blood roaring in his ears and his mouth dry as toast, until John’s voice would come over the radio cheerfully notifying them that he’d defied the odds yet again.

The real problem, he decided between algorithms, was that Atlantis had changed him in ways he’d never anticipated. He’d planned on seeing wondrous things, learning all he could about alien technology, and generally wowing the cosmos with his genius. What he’d gotten instead had been so much more, and at the same time so much worse.

Atlantis had made him part of a tightly knit group of colleagues that had become friends, and were well on their way to becoming family. He’d never wanted that, never thought he needed it. He was Dr. Rodney McKay, scourge of graduate students and incompetent scientists the world over. Yet here he was collaborating with Zelenka, paying reluctant compliments to Miko, and training with Teyla. Frequent trips off-world, running for his life more often than not, had toned his body into something less soft.

The best and worst of it all was John Sheppard, someone he’d never have had reason to interact with back on Earth. They were complete opposites – John was heroic where Rodney was cowardly, selfless where he was selfish. Rodney spent a lot of time in his own head, trying to answer big questions, while John was involved with the day-to-day workings of the City and those who lived there. Others might think Rodney was completely egotistical, but he was well aware of his own faults.

He’d had more than one late-night panic attack contemplating how much John had come to mean to him. The man wasn’t _remotely_ Rodney’s usual type; John was sex on a stick, all rakish hair and dangerous eyes and lean, muscled body. And he wasn’t just a pretty face, what with the degree in mathematics from MIT and passing the Mensa test. He’d surprised Rodney more than once with a brilliant idea or deduction. He’d mentally constructed flow charts to try and understand the attraction, which was absolutely terrifying.

So terrifying that he routinely suppressed all thoughts of John, burying him under ZPM searches and Jumper upgrades and shield maintenance. There was no point in torturing himself with something that was beyond his reach; John was an intergalactic playboy of the highest order. It was an excellent strategy, at least until the next big crisis.

*o*o*o*

“What is he _doing_?” Rodney’s eyes were glued to the laptop monitor, watching the small blue dot that was Sheppard’s life sign. He was tracking a creature of some kind that had stowed away on a Jumper during Team Two’s latest off-world mission and then blasted out of it as soon as they came back through the Gate. Rodney hadn’t gotten a very good look at it as it flew by, but he was pretty sure there were a lot of teeth and spiny appendages. It was represented on the monitor as a moving red dot on one of the lower levels.

“Colonel, please wait for backup.” Elizabeth stood beside Rodney, looking as worried as he felt.

 _I got this_ , came his hushed reply.

Ronon and several Marines were on their way but John wasn’t waiting. And then blue dot met red dot and over the open radio frequency they heard shots fired and John cursing colorfully and the creature making some kind of growling-snapping noise that sounded entirely unpleasant. Rodney held his breath, hands clenched into fists, and reviewed the list.

_Died and brought back after the Iratus bug attack_

_Last-minute save during suicide Hive run_

_Cured of retrovirus that turned him into a monster bug_

_Narrowly avoided being fed on by countless Wraith_

_Faced overwhelming odds on Sateda_

_Outwitted Kolya and took out his strike team one man at a time_

_Sucked almost dry by a Wraith and miraculously returned to full health_

The red dot blinked out almost as soon as the cavalry arrived. Rodney let out his breath, eyes still on John’s life sign until he knew for sure the man was okay. There was a long moment of silence over the radio that seemed to drag on way too long, until he was sure John was lying maimed in a puddle of his own blood.

_Sheppard. The creature has been eliminated._

“Nice work, Colonel,” Elizabeth said, looking as relieved as Rodney felt. “We’ll contact the biology lab and have them collect the remains. As soon as you can, we’ll meet in the conference room.”

Ronon’s no-nonsense voice came over the radio. _Sheppard needs to go to the infirmary first_.

_No, I don’t._

Rodney could well imagine the look Ronon was giving John, but Elizabeth intervened before the two of them could come to blows to see who was the more stubborn.

“Infirmary, John. Then we’ll talk. Weir out.”

Rodney checked the monitor again, but John’s life sign was still pulsing brightly. He refused to postulate further on the many ways he could’ve been maimed by that pointy flying _thing_ , and then found himself doing it anyway.

“Rodney.”

He started, then looked up at Elizabeth.

“Is there some way to put an alarm in the Jumpers to keep this from happening again?”

“Well, I don’t…”

“Can you do it?”

“Of course I can,” he snapped automatically. And though he longed to run to the infirmary, to see for himself that John was okay, he settled in at the console and started working out exactly what would be needed to create an alarm that would notify teams if the Jumpers had been breached by biologicals of any kind.

Half an hour later John appeared, leaning over his shoulder to see what was on his monitor, and Rodney was finally able to relax completely. A quick glance showed a bandage on John’s temple and another wrapped around his left hand; nothing serious, if Carson hadn’t held him in the infirmary.

“Whatcha working on?”

“Nothing that needs your input, thanks.” Rodney resolutely kept his eyes on the laptop, waiting for John to move along. He wanted to yell at him for taking unnecessary risks – _again!_ – but there was no point in it. John did what he wanted and no-one could tell him otherwise. Eventually he stopped hovering and went to his meeting with Elizabeth and Rodney lost himself in the work.

*o*o*o*

The thing about living on Atlantis was that each day seemed like borrowed time. There were so many ways for things to go wrong. The City itself, which had somehow become home to Rodney in a way Earth never had, held innumerable labs and machines that held the potential for death and mayhem. He’d been a victim of that himself, when the nanovirus had infected him; dumb luck that the ATA gene had saved him. Sometimes, though, it was a wrong place, wrong time kind of thing.

One of the off-world teams came back through the Gate with something so virulent that Atlantis initiated automatic lockdown procedures almost instantly, klaxons wailing. Rodney had been in the transporter on his way to lunch when he found himself stranded. He tapped his ear piece.

“McKay to Sheppard.”

 _Not now, Rodney_.

“I’m stuck in a transporter.”

 _Bigger problems_. And John had the gall to close the connection. Rodney had to call three more people until he found out what was going on.

 _Patience, Rodney_ , Zelenka sighed after he’d ranted for several minutes about needing rescue right away so he could save the day.

Patience was never his strong suit, and having it forced on him didn’t make it any easier. For a while he paced the small confines of the transporter, running equations and probabilities in his head. His hand itched for a tablet, which he’d unthinkingly left behind in his lab. Of all the times not to be connected. He pulled the door off the access panel, but without his tablet he had no way of rerouting power or checking the control crystals. He cursed, loudly, and then tried the radio again.

“Colonel…”

 _Not_ now _Rodney_.

Rodney thumped his fist against the wall. How could they not need his help? They _always_ needed his help, even when it was outside his specialty area. It wasn’t like other departments didn’t occasionally benefit from his expertise. He tapped the radio again.

“Carson! What’s going on?”

_Don’t bark at me, Rodney. I’m quite busy at the moment._

“And I’m trapped in a transporter. Now tell me what’s _happening_!”

_I don’t bloody know, do I? I’m locked in the infirmary._

“Well, that’s wonderful. You at least have access to the system, idiot. What’s the computer telling you?”

Carson sighed. _Team Three brought in some sort of bacteria. The City activated contagion protocols_.

“I knew we should’ve disabled those after the last time,” Rodney griped. He ran a hand over his forehead; it was getting hot in there. “Let me think. Let me think.”

 _Radek is working on the problem_.

“Zelenka?” Rodney snorted in derision. “He couldn’t engineer his way out of a paper bag.”

_Rodney…_

He tapped his radio, cutting Carson off. The air in the transporter was positively stifling and he slid down the wall till he was sitting on the floor. If he had to rely on Zelenka to get out of there he was going to be waiting a while. The fact that the man had become his right-hand, go-to guy hardly mattered, not in situations like these. Not when Rodney was the one in need of rescue.

Unable to sit still, he started drawing equations in the air. He plotted out how to bypass the lockdown so that key personnel could still move freely around the City. After a while he stopped calculating and started making random swoops and swirls, unaccountably interested in how his fingers were moving.

_McKay. This is Sheppard._

“That’s good,” he replied, feeling oddly light-headed.

 _The City released some sort of gas that seems to be killing the bacteria, so you should be able to get out soon. Hang in there_.

Rodney giggled, suddenly having a mental image of himself wearing a big blue bow around his neck and hanging from a tree branch. “I’m hangin’ in, hangin’ out, hangin’ ten.”

_Uh, Rodney? You okay?_

“Why is it I’m not allergic to cats? I mean, citrus? That’s the dumbest allergy ever.” He wiped the sweat from his face, noticing without interest that his hand was shaking, and felt a pang of loss as he thought about his cat. He missed his cat. 

“I miss my cat,” he told John.

_I’m sure you do. I need to talk to Beckett, okay? I’ll be right back._

“Okey dokey.” There were a few minutes of radio silence, during which he planned different scenarios that would allow him to bring Tribbs to Atlantis.

 _Rodney, it’s Carson_.

“Don’t you think having a cat around would boost morale?”

_Possibly. Rodney, how are you feeling?_

“With my hands,” he replied, laughing at his own joke. He was even more light-headed after that, and his fingers felt a bit numb. Then John was back on the radio, him and Carson both, and Rodney laid down on the floor the best he could with the limited space.

_McKay, stop fooling around and tell Beckett how you feel._

John was using his all-business voice and Rodney obediently tried to clear some of the fuzziness out of his head. 

“Hot,” he said finally. “Dizzy. Can’t feel my fingers.”

Carson was also brisk and no-nonsense. _Rodney, listen to me. I think you’re having an allergic reaction to the gas. Do you have your epi pen with you?_

While Rodney pondered that he could hear John ordering Chuck to find his exact position, then telling Zelenka to pick up the pace with unlocking the doors.

“No,” he decided finally. “No pen.”

On Earth he’d carried an epi pen religiously, sometimes more than one, but he’d gotten lax as of late. His citrus allergy was well known on Atlantis, and people here seemed to watch out for him in a way heretofore unknown.

“I love you guys.”

 _His words are starting to slur_ , Carson said, though Rodney sounded fine to himself. _You have to get him out of there, Colonel._

 _Working on it_ , John replied tersely. 

Rodney became aware that he was shaking all over, and for some reason that helped to clear his head a little. Atlantis was trying to kill him. Again. It was enough to give a guy a complex.

“I’m sorry,” he said, wrapping his arms around himself in a futile effort to contain the trembling.

_Hang on, Rodney. I’m on my way._

“My hero,” he muttered. Lethargy was stealing over him, thankfully taking some of the muscle spasms away.

 _You have to stay awake, Rodney_ , Carson said worriedly in his ear.

“Sorry,” Rodney repeated. “Stupid.”

He could hear John, apparently on the move now and racing to Rodney’s lab for the epi pen. Carson was getting a team together to meet him at the transporter. Rodney closed his eyes, knowing he should be grateful that everyone was working so hard to save him. Even Zelenka, who was somehow managing without his guidance.

 _Stay with me, buddy_ , John said breathlessly. _Almost there. Rodney? Rodney!_

“Who’ll keep the list now?” he murmured, and it was a concern. When he was gone someone needed to keep track, to count John’s near-misses as proof that he might very well be indestructible.

_Rodney._

“Iratus bug. Iratus virus. Escaped the Wraith. How many times?” He tried to remember but he was so tired. Even to his own ears his words were finally starting to become unintelligible. “Stunned, too often. That can’t be good. Radiation. Something…”

It was too hard, he was losing the list. He could hear John’s voice in his ear, but not what he was saying. And really, it wasn’t such a bad way to die; there was no pain, no fear, just inevitability. You could only cheat death so many times before death finally got to win. He did have a few regrets, though. If only he could summon up something pithy for his final words.

“John, I…” Rodney started to say, and then everything faded away at last.

*o*o*o*

Awareness rushed in all at once, riding a pounding headache. Without opening his eyes Rodney knew exactly where he was. He heard the hushed sounds of the infirmary, felt the cool stream of oxygen coming through the nasal cannula. His whole body ached, as if he’d had the flu, but he remembered something about an allergic reaction; what had he eaten?

The strangest thing was that someone was holding his hand, fingers twined together. For all of his experience with infirmary visits, that had never happened before. He squeezed that hand experimentally and was surprised enough to open his eyes when he heard John’s voice.

“Hey, Rodney. Welcome back.”

“What the hell happened?” There was something unreadable on John’s face and Rodney was too fuzzy to make sense of it.

“Do you remember being stuck in the transporter?”

“I…yes. Now that you say it, yes.”

“The City released a gas in the Gate Room to kill the bacteria, which Beckett guesses was pretty dangerous to warrant that kind of response.”

“He guesses?” Rodney snorted. “But I wasn’t in the Gate Room.”

“All the transporters were gassed, too. Probably a precautionary measure.” John’s voice gave nothing away but he hadn’t yet let go of Rodney’s hand. “You had an…”

“Allergic reaction, yeah. I remember now.” He couldn’t recall much of it, beyond having the shakes and a general feeling that he’d probably embarrassed himself.

John squeezed his hand, his expression solemn. “You had me worried. I barely got there in time.”

“Oh. Well, thank you. For the saving.”

“You really need to stop doing that.”

“Doing what? Almost dying?”

“Too many times,” John said softly. “The shadow creature, the nanovirus, the Wraith enzyme…”

Rodney’s mouth fell open. John had a list! A list for _him_!

“I’m watching too,” John said. “I won’t forget any of it.”

Tears came unexpectedly to Rodney’s eyes and he looked away, mortified and touched and flustered. John keeping a list meant that Rodney _mattered_ to him, above and beyond his big brain. It shouldn’t have been that important but it was. A lot.

“I won’t forget either,” he promised, swallowing around the lump in his throat.

Then Carson was there clucking over him and checking his vitals, and John left for parts unknown, and Rodney was glad to have some time to himself to think.

*o*o*o*

Two days later Rodney found John out on the pier; their usual spot. He sat beside him, offering up a beer.

“Thanks,” John said, his gaze on the horizon.

They sat quietly for a long while, enjoying the cool breeze and the sound of water lapping against the sides of the pier. As always Rodney gazed out at the vast expanse of ocean, looking for signs of his whale and trying not to remember what it felt like to have all of that water pressing down on him.

“You ever miss Earth?” John asked.

Rodney gave the question serious consideration before answering. “I miss not knowing about Wraith and all the other things out there that want to kill us.”

That earned him a snort in reply.

“I miss bacon,” he continued wistfully. “Jeannie, of course. Samantha Carter’s tight t-shirts.”

John bumped him with his shoulder, laughing. “I miss football games. And regular sized beds.”

Rodney nodded his agreement. “I’ll tell you what I _don’t_ miss. I don’t miss not knowing how strong I can be. Running around the universe, shooting a gun and perpetuating heroic acts? That was never in my lexicon. Out here everything is a challenge. It’s all…adrenalin and fear. Nothing on Earth could make me feel this alive, and it seems wrong to think that way but I do.”

“That’s messed up.”

“Am I wrong?” Rodney countered.

John finally looked at him, a wry smirk on his face and affection in his eyes. “No. Being here. It’s made me into a person I never thought I could be.”

“You scare me sometimes,” Rodney admitted, flushing and taking a hasty swallow of beer.

“I don’t mean to.”

“I know.”

John bumped him again, but this time stayed pressed against Rodney. He wanted to say more, to thank John for watching out for him, for always expecting more from him and pushing him when he needed it. For forgiving him all his ego-driven mistakes, even the big ones. Then John reached over and took hold of his hand, fingers twisting with his, and Rodney thought that maybe he already knew.

They sat there together until the sun went down, not talking but enjoying the new closeness that warmed the spaces between them. Rodney thought maybe he could start a new list now and fill it with moments like these, with the love he felt for John and that he was beginning to suspect John felt for him. Nothing else in two galaxies mattered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **AN:** My first foray into the SGA fandom, which smiles2go pulled me into along with so many others. LOL! Being a slashy girl I of course immediately embraced McShep. I’m having a love affair with Rodney’s crooked mouth and John’s pointy ears. ::grins::
> 
> This fic was influenced by the many eps of SGA I’ve been watching (almost done with season 3 now) and noting how many times John does things that make his people think he’s dead. I made a list of both his and Rodney’s near-death situations and it wasn’t a short one, and I still have two seasons to see!
> 
> I’m sure my McKay-Sheppard dynamic still needs work, but I’m certain there will be other fics coming along to help me practice and refine. Until then, I appreciate any comments and constructive criticism. Thanks!


	2. Embrace the Storm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a Twister Fusion fic - all the fun of the movie with much cooler characters. LOL!

[](http://s229.photobucket.com/user/mommybruno/media/Title%20Cards/EmbracetheStormTitleCard-sm.jpg.html)

Front page of the Amarillo Globe-News, 26 years ago…

**MIRACLE AMID TRAGEDY**

_NEW MEXICO: In the wake of devastation from Friday’s powerful F-5 tornado, which tore a path of destruction through Roosevelt and Curry counties, there was a miracle. At the Travelodge outside of Clovis rescue workers didn’t hold out much hope of finding survivors in the flattened building, but as they sifted through the wreckage they discovered one young boy, seriously injured but still alive. The child, later identified as nine-year-old Meredith McKay, was transported to Plains Regional Medical Center, where he was treated for several broken bones and an unspecified head injury. McKay, visiting from Ontario, Canada, had been traveling with his parents and younger sister. A spokesperson for the family said that the boy is recovering and plans are being made for him to live with relatives here in the States._

*o*o*o*

The first big purchase John had made when he got the job at KSNW was to buy the fully-loaded black Dodge Ram that was right now flying down I-35 in the early morning hours. He felt it was representative of his new, more respectable life – shiny new truck, shiny new job, shiny new two-bedroom apartment with an actual view. He glanced at the woman in the passenger seat, looking unbelievably fresh in her white pants suit and her blonde hair done up in a fancy twist behind her head; shiny new fiancée.

It was perfect weather for a drive; the big Oklahoma sky was clear and the rising sun painted the wheat fields gold, though John could see the storm clouds already building in the distance. There was a time that his only consideration regarding inclement weather was whether or not it would ground him. After his discharge from the Air Force it had come to represent excitement and discovery, a new life. Now all he felt was conflicted. There was an echo of that old thrill whenever he saw lightning against a blackened sky, but now there was also regret and an odd sense of loss.

“You look nervous,” Nancy said. She put one elegant hand on his arm; her manicured nails were painted a very subtle shade of brown that she said was taupe; she always painted her nails neutral colors, and sometimes John wished she’d go for something bolder.

“I’m not nervous.” Which was a completely obvious lie to anyone who paid the slightest attention, and she certainly knew him better than that.

“Johnny…”

He flashed her an apologetic grin. “Okay, sorry. It’s just…been a while.”

“They’re your friends, I’m sure they’ll be glad to see you.”

“Sure.” John had no illusions about where he stood with the old gang. He hadn’t left on the best of terms – some might say he ran away – and despite Ronon’s phone call he wasn’t sure he’d be all that welcomed. Especially by Rodney. And of course it was Rodney he was most dreading to see.

“ _They_ called _you_ ,” Nancy reminded him.

“I know. Just…don’t expect too much, okay?”

“It’ll be fine, honey, you just wait and see.”

Nancy sometimes had a bit too much optimism, though perhaps it was a natural defense against John’s inherent pessimism. His life, for the most part, had been a compilation of fuck-ups strung together with unbelievable bits of luck and the occasional unadulterated joy of flying. Things were going so well for him right now that he couldn’t help feeling there was something just over the horizon waiting to screw it all up.

While John followed the directions he’d been given over the phone, Nancy chattered about how lovely the countryside was and how maybe they should add a few days to their trip, visit Oklahoma City. The closer they got to the team’s encampment the more John’s stomach knotted up. He’d been gone just over a year, which suddenly seemed like forever. What if some of the old gang had left? What if they all hated him?

He saw the vehicles first, a motley assortment of cars, trucks and Ronon’s repurposed short bus; they bore the scars of severe weather – chipped paint from flying debris and dimples from hail. John pulled in next to the bus, which was painted brown and emblazoned with an airbrushed tornado and the appellation _Puddlejumper_ ; before he’d even put the truck in park the six and a half foot tall, dreadlocked owner of the bus had John’s door open.

“Sheppard! You came!”

John quickly undid his seat belt before Ronon could disembowel him trying to pull him out of the seat. He was immediately engulfed in a crushing bear hug. When he extricated himself Nancy was hovering uncertainly nearby, looking a bit intimidated.

“Of course I came. Figured this would be better than waking up some morning with you looming over my bed.”

Ronon punched him good naturedly in the shoulder, which made him stumble back a step, wincing. The man was a monster, all muscle and darkly tanned skin. A geometric tattoo circled one forearm and he had random bits of jewelry strung through his dreads. He’d been one of John’s closest friends, back during his chase days.

“Who you got there?” he asked, nodding at Nancy.

“Ronon, I’d like you to meet my fiancée, Nancy Carmichael. Nancy, Ronon Dex.”

The big guy raised an eyebrow, the only sign of his surprise, and shook Nancy’s hand; it was dwarfed in his big paw. “Pleasure.”

“Johnny’s told me a lot about you.”

The nickname got a full-on smile and John winced again. He’d never hear the end of this, he was sure. He was saved from further humiliation by the appearance of Carson.

“John! What a pleasant surprise!” The two men exchanged manly slaps on the back. “What brings you all the way from Wichita?”

“Chewie gave me a call,” John replied, tilting his head at Ronon. “Told me I should stop by.”

Carson nodded solemly. “Aye, and it’s good he did. Wouldn’t be right not to have you here.”

Ronon nudged Nancy forward. “John’s fiancée,” he said.

Again John was given a surprised look, and he scowled in return. He didn’t know why it was such a shock that he should be getting married; it wasn’t like he’d never dated while he’d been part of the group. And okay, maybe it had only been that one girl but still. 

At least Carson had better manners, even if his usually faint Scottish accent suddenly got thick as molasses. “Well, congratulations are in order then. I’m Carson. It’s _verra_ nice to meet you.” 

“Nancy.”

Carson made to kiss the back of her hand and John slapped his arm away. “Knock that off!”

“Just being polite” he replied, but there was a mischievous glint in his eye.

John opened his mouth to say something, but then he heard Rodney’s familiar, aggravated voice coming from the other side of the bus, and nerves clutched at his gut.

“Clearly you calibrated it wrong, or it would be working. Obviously Skywarn is being run by a bunch of toddlers if _that’s_ the best you can do.”

There was only one person he argued with like that and John wasn’t disappointed to hear Radek’s terse response, his Czech accent thick. “I calibrate properly. You have not attached to power source.”

The two men came around the front of the van and John felt his breath catch in his throat. Rodney. He hadn’t changed at all in the last year; he still wore the same ridiculous gray coveralls, his eyes were still the color of a clear blue sky. He carried a tablet in one hand and gestured with the other. Radek, walking along beside him, pushed his round glasses further up his nose and looked as if he were holding back from physically assaulting Rodney; not an uncommon impulse.

“Do you honestly think I’d forget something so elementary? I can’t believe…hmm. Yes, I see it.” Rodney was looking down at the tablet, not paying attention to where he was going, so when John spoke he jerked in surprise.

“Hey, Rodney.”

The other man looked momentarily startled, and then his face settled into a mask of bland indifference; he couldn’t hide the anger in his eyes, though.

“Oh. It’s you.”

“Ah, John, is good to see you.” Radek came forward to shake his hand. “You have been missed, my friend.”

“Don’t you have work to do?” Rodney snapped. “Chop, chop!”

“ _Jdi do píči_ ,” Radek replied sourly as he stomped off.

“Everybody back to work!”

There was some grumbling but when Rodney snapped out orders it was easiest to just do what he said. In mere seconds it was just the three of them and John took a few steps back to lean against the truck, doing his best to achieve a look of casual calm; beneath the surface he was jittering like he’d just touched a live wire.

“Why are you here?” Rodney’s already slanted mouth took an even deeper downturn. “Shouldn’t you be wearing a plaid sports coat and giving a _weather report_ somewhere in the barren wasteland of Nebraska, or wherever it is you live now?”

John clenched his jaw at the disparaging tone in Rodney’s voice when he mentioned the new job. He knew it was going to be a sore point and had to struggle not to respond in kind.

“Ronon called me. Told me you’re ready to take Dorothy out.”

A flicker of something like sadness flashed across his face, there and gone in a millisecond. “You walked away from Dorothy. You have no rights to be here now.”

Nancy moved to John’s side and put a hand on his shoulder. Rodney eyes widened then narrowed down to small, angry slits.

“Johnny? Is everything alright?”

“This was a bad idea. I shouldn’t have…let’s just go.” He turned his back on Rodney – _again_ , the little voice in his head sneered at him – and had one hand on the door handle when he heard Teyla’s voice.

“John? Is that you?”

He turned and felt some of the tension leave him when he saw Teyla hurrying towards him, her whole face lit up with a smile. Instead of hugging, they each leaned forward until their foreheads were touching; it was her thing, and John had always found it charming if a little quirky.

“Ronon said he called you but I did not think you would come. I am glad to be wrong.”

“You look great,” he said honestly. Teyla was like a smaller, more feminine version of Ronon – she had clearly defined muscles in her arms and legs, and was a black belt in several different martial arts. For all that physical fierceness, though, she was the peacemaker of the group.

“Thank you. City life seems to be agreeing with you.”

“I like sleeping in my own bed every night, that’s for sure.”

Teyla nodded, then turned her attention to Nancy; as a stranger she got an intensive once-over and a handshake. “I am Teyla; it is very nice to meet you.”

“Nancy. John and I are…ah…”

“Getting married.” Rodney said it like marriage was some kind of venereal disease. “Couldn’t help noticing the ridiculously large engagement ring. That must’ve set you back.”

Teyla flashed John a quick frown before turning a big smile on Nancy. “That is wonderful news! Come. You must meet the others. Rodney, be nice. John came a long way.”

It was just the two of them and John made a very intensive study of his feet, unable to look Rodney in the eye. Distant thunder rumbled and it filled him with a longing he couldn’t name.

“Good sky today,” he said when the silence became oppressive.

“Biggest series of storms in twelve years,” Rodney said. “One lined up right after another. NSSL says they’ve never seen anything like it.”

It was a storm chaser’s dream. John risked looking up and saw that he was being studied. What did Rodney see? Could he detect the lies that John had been wrapping around himself for the last year? Suddenly his shiny life felt like the rice paper construction that it was.

“So…how’s the job?” Rodney looked incredibly uncomfortable, the way he kept shifting on his feet; the frown seemed to have taken up permanent residence. John gave him points for trying though.

“It’s good. Wichita is small time, but there’s a chance I could go national. Maybe the Weather Channel. They say I have a…uh…good backstory. You know. With the storm chasing.”

“And you like that? Standing in front of a green screen and telling people whether or not they should take an umbrella to work? You belong out in the field, John, not behind a desk.”

John could feel himself tensing up. Not so much from the derisive tone of Rodney’s voice than from the fact he was right; it _wasn’t_ the same.

“You can’t live on the adrenalin rush forever,” he said tightly. “I’m not the bad guy because I wanted something stable.” He almost said _normal_.

Rodney glowered. “You’re the bad guy because you left your work _unfinished_. You didn’t see it through and now that someone _else_ has done all the hard work you can’t come waltzing back in here and take the credit!”

“I wouldn’t…”

“The hell you wouldn’t! If this works – _when_ it works – it’s going to be a big deal, bigger than when they revised the Fujita scale. Imagine how far you could ride that kind of notoriety – TV deals, maybe even a movie of your heroic struggle against nature.” Rodney was fairly vibrating with fury by this point, and John’s hands clenched into fists in response to the slanderous outpouring. “And you’ll just turn your back on us _again_ , and that will be that. I should _never_ have let you join the team.”

John was finding it increasingly difficult not to throw a punch. How could Rodney feel that way, after all they’d been through together? It hurt him, which only made him angry because he didn’t need this. Taking that call from Ronon had been a huge mistake, he could see that now; the time for friendly reunions and reminiscing was over. And maybe he’d left, but no-one had exactly tried to make him stay either.

“ _Rodney!_ ” Teyla’s sharp exclamation cut through the tension. She had her hands on her hips and looked about ready to throw down and get her hands dirty. “You should not say such things! You know they are not true.”

“I don’t know any such thing,” Rodney snapped. He turned on his heel and stormed off; if he’d been a cartoon there would’ve been a heavy black cloud hanging over his head.

The awkward silence that followed was abruptly broken by someone John didn’t know, a young woman with strawberry blonde hair pulled up into a messy ponytail and wearing cut-off jeans and a plaid shirt.

“Wow, John Sheppard in the flesh?” She gave his hand a hearty shake and he immediately thought _farm girl_. “Jeez, you’re like a celebrity around here. All I hear are Sheppard stories. Nice to finally get to meet the man behind the myth.”

“Uh…hey?”

“John, this is Laura Cadman. She joined us five months ago.” Teyla made the introduction smoothly, though he could tell she was still annoyed with Rodney.

“Yeah, I took over procurement from Radek; poor guy wasn’t very good at it, really, and I don’t mind. I also run the digital camera and one of the digital recorders.”

“Procurement?” John asked, feeling a bit lost. He didn’t recall that being a job description.

“Sure. You know, making sure we have rooms in whatever town we wind up in at the end of day. Getting coffee, supplies, that kind of thing.”

“She is very efficient,” Teyla put in.

“And cute as a button,” Carson offered, walking up behind Laura and sliding his arms around her waist. _Ah_ , John thought. The man _had_ always liked those fresh-faced Midwestern girls, and this one had that in spades.

John didn’t want to leave; in fact, he had an incredible desire to stay, to catch up with his friends and retell all the old stories. Aside from Nancy he hadn’t made many new friends in Wichita and those he had were more acquaintances really. There was a certain level of intimacy to be attained when you were out in the middle of storm, getting pummeled by hail and rain and hundred mile an hour winds; you couldn’t get that sitting around a television studio drinking coffee and discussing golf handicaps. Still, Rodney had made it clear he wasn’t welcome.

“Listen, I should be going. What’d you do with Nancy?”

“Ronon is showing her Dorothy.” Teyla looped her arm through his and led him through the obstacle course of vehicles and equipment to Rodney’s yellow Jeep Pioneer. Ronon and Nancy were standing beside it, and he was gesturing at the instrument pack that was strapped down to the bed. _Dorothy_.

“…Sheppard’s design. Now we’ll test it out and see if it works.”

“It’ll work,” John heard himself say. Eyes only for the shiny aluminum canister, he dropped the tailgate and lifted himself up onto the back of the Jeep. He couldn’t believe Rodney finished it, took it from the computer design and made it real. It was bulkier than he’d thought it would be, welded to a metal frame painted yellow. There were warning lights on each side that would flash red when it was turned on, and several different pieces of storm measurement equipment – including the ubiquitous anemometer – attached to the frame.

“What does it do?” Nancy asked, in the voice that John learned meant she was asking merely to be polite and not because she had any real interest. That was fine because he had interest enough for both of them.

“It helps us study tornadoes in a way no-one else has ever been able to. Scientists have been studying them forever but there’s still no way to determine which storm is going to produce a tornado, or why. Dorothy will be able to take scientific measurements from inside the funnel.”

John was dimly aware that they’d drawn a crowd, the other storm chasers watching him avidly. He pushed the button that opened the lid and pulled out one of the palm-sized sensors, which was round and translucent, giving a view of the circuitry contained inside.

“We put the instrument pack in the path of the tornado. When wind speeds reach a designated minimal level the lid opens up and releases these sensors. They’ll measure all parts of the tornado simultaneously and radio back information about the internal structure, wind velocities and flow asymmetry. We could get a profile of a tornado and learn more in thirty seconds than anyone has for the last thirty years.”

There was some raucous cheering at that and John couldn’t help but smile, even as he caught sight of Rodney at the edge of the group, arms crossed. 

Nancy looked flustered. “But…why?”

“Why?” Rodney pushed his way forward and Radek let out a yelp when his foot was trod upon. “There are an average of sixty tornado-related deaths per year, and property damage in the billions of dollars. The warnings are, yes, much better than they were, but it’s still not good enough. No where near good enough. The more we know, the better we can predict which storms will produce tornadoes. We’ll be able to give people a better chance to get to safety.”

John was quite familiar with that particular speech, and all its many iterations. Unlike the rest of them, Rodney had a lot of personal demons tied up with tornadoes and tornado research. Secretly he’d always thought that Rodney was a lot like the storms he chased – capricious, his moods changing on a dime, capable of leaving a path of emotional destruction behind him. 

Somehow, Rodney had been able to put together a team that – for the most part – met his high standards of competence and intelligence, and didn’t seem to take his biting comments to heart; anyone too sensitive wouldn’t have lasted a week with him in the field. The rest of them had come into storm chasing for various reasons, though adrenalin junkie almost seemed like a job description, but Rodney was the only one who was actively terrified of the big storms that he chased with such single-minded determination.

John met Rodney’s eyes and nodded. One thing he’d always understood was that it only hurt the other man to downplay his motivations for the Dorothy project. Rodney was driven to _know_ the tornado, to figure it out, to reduce it to numbers and science and therefore sap it of its power. He couldn’t help but wonder what would happen when that day came; what would become of Rodney once he’d bested the enemy? 

Everyone turned their heads when another vehicle pulled in, tires churning up the grass. John returned the sensor to Dorothy and closed the lid, but he stayed up on the back of the Jeep as the last member of the group popped out of his Subaru.

“Sheppard? No shit! What’re you doin’ back?” Lorne hopped up on the back of Rodney’s truck and captured John in a hug.

“I’m not back.”

“Sure. Hey, McKay. NSSL says the caps are breaking, the tower’s going up to thirty miles up the dryline.”

It seemed suddenly that everyone was holding their breath and looking at Rodney. He looked a John a second longer and then his fingers were snapping and he was moving.

“All right, let’s go!”

“We’re on the move!” Ronon bellowed. 

The team scattered. Equipment was bundled up and stowed, cars were started, and John stood there in the middle of all of it feeling like a stranger. He remembered what it was like, scrambling to catch up to a storm and waiting to see if a funnel would drop. The thrill of the chase. He didn’t realize how much he’d missed it till now.

“Sheppard!” Ronon called from the window of the Puddlejumper. “Come with us. See Dorothy fly!”

John looked at Nancy, who was watching the proceedings with wide eyes. He couldn’t imagine how this all seemed to her, or how he’d convince her that following along would be a good idea, but he wanted this so badly that maybe she could just read it in his face.

“It won’t hurt to tag along, will it?” she asked.

John gave her a quick kiss. “Let’s go!”

“Sheppard!” Lorne tossed him something as he drove slowly past. “Keep in touch!”

It was an ear piece, small and black. John wondered which of their revolving supply of benefactors had financed it; in the past they’d gotten by with just CB radios and cell phones. He hastily hooked it over his ear and thumbed it on.

“Dorothy two and three ready!” Ronon reported.

“Dorothy four ready!” Radek added.

“Glad you’re back, laddie!” Carson called as he and Laura went driving by.

“I’m not back!”

*o*o*o*

John and Nancy were at the rear of the pack, right behind Ronon who was always last. He loved seeing their little caravan speeding up the interstate, bristling with weather gauges and the link to the GOES satellite. When he’d first started chasing with Rodney it had all made him feel a little bit like a spy or something. Of course, that was before he realized how outdated some of the equipment was, and that it was mostly thanks to Rodney and Radek that it kept working at all.

One of the things Rodney was touchy about was being called a Meteorologist. Though he had a degree in it, he much preferred _Severe Weather Engineer_. He’d designed half the equipment they hauled around to record storm data – with help from John and Radek, and on at least two occasions he’d consulted with Tim Samaras who was also an engineer that specialized in storm data.

“This is kind of exciting,” Nancy said. “You used to do this regularly?”

“Yeah. As soon as tornado season started we’d be out in the field. The rest of the time we were in the lab, working on the Dorothy project and compiling data.” 

“And you got paid for that?” she asked skeptically. 

John chuckled. “I suppose you could say that. We didn’t get paid a lot – most of it came from a University stipend. But we got grants and some of our more generous benefactors would give us a little extra in addition to equipment. News networks would sometimes buy our video footage. One year we got picked to work with the Vortex project, which was pretty cool.” Except for how Rodney had chafed at not being the one calling the shots and butted heads with dour Dr. Wurman the entire time.

“That doesn’t sound very reliable.”

“Suppose not.” He knew that the first year the team had been organized, before he fell into it, Rodney had done most of the funding out of his own pocket. His parents had left him a sizeable inheritance and he’d had no problem dipping into it for the good of the team; not a lot of people were aware of that.

John flicked a glance at his rearview, and then took a longer look. There were several sleek black SUVs coming up behind him, like something out of the Men in Black. He had a gut-wrenching moment of certainty that it was some black ops deal – you can take the man out of the military but not the military out of the man – and then he got a better look as the lead vehicle drew closer and signaled, indicating that they wanted to pass.

“Kavanagh. Son of a bitch!”

“Who is that, Johnny?” Nancy twisted in her seat to look out the back window.

“Peter Kavanagh. He’s a dick. He was on the original team, with Rodney and Radek, and then I joined up and we all worked together. He was good at what he did, but not great.” _Not like Rodney_. “He formed his own team, got some nice corporate sponsors that give him snazzy cars and state of the art equipment, and then trot him out regularly as a shining example of all the good they’re doing for science and the environment.”

It was a surprise, really, how much bitterness there still was. Kavanagh was never a friend, always just a colleague. He was the kind of guy that had to break people down to make himself look better. He’d been vocal of his dislike for Rodney and how he was running the lab, and when Kavanagh finally left for greener pastures he’d committed some petty but irritating sabotage that had set them back months. 

And there was the man himself pulling past on the left. He shot an incredulous look at John from his seat on the passenger side of his shiny SUV, still sporting a ponytail and the glasses that John knew for a fact were merely an affectation. He tapped at his earpiece.

“Rodney, what’s Kavanagh doing here?”

_Who the hell gave you a radio?_

“Rodney…”

_How should I know? The same thing we are, presumably. Did he look surprised to see you?_

“Yeah.”

Nancy opened her mouth, presumably to ask another question, but the last SUV was passing and it had a large, wide trailer attached to it that didn’t give John enough room in his own lane.

“Shit! Hold on!” He jerked the wheel to the right, leaving the asphalt and bumping through a ditch. He felt it when the right rear tire blew, probably punctured by something in the ditch. “Damn it!”

 _You need some help, Sheppard?_ Ronon asked in his ear.

“Only if you have time. I need to put the spare on.”

_McKay?_

_Yes, fine, whatever. Things look stalled on the Doppler anyway. Meet us at the truck stop off the next exit._

“Thanks, Rodney.”

There was no reply.

*o*o*o*

The truck stop boasted a diner and an auto repair shop, not to mention a gas station. John knew the stop had been for his benefit, even though Rodney made a big show of getting all the vehicles gassed up. The flat tire turned out to have a pretty straight-forward puncture, and the mechanic assured John that it would be a quick patch job, no more than fifteen minutes. Nancy used a key attached to a huge piece of wood to get into the outside-access restroom; John had no doubt there’d be vigorous scrubbing with antibacterial gel when she was done.

Kavanagh’s team was also utilizing the truck stop, the SUVs parked in a neat line in front of the diner. There were reporters interviewing him, and John wasn’t sure if they were part of his entourage or if he’d called ahead; the dick loved an audience. He wasn’t really paying that much attention, until all of a sudden he was and he felt like he’d been kicked in the solar plexus.

“What drives me is the unknown,” Kavanagh said superciliously. “What if we could predict a tornado’s path? How many lives would be spared with the creation of an early warning system?”

That’s when John saw it – the instrument pack that looked like a close relation to his own Dorothy; too close to be a coincidence.

“D.O.T. 3 is the answer. The first digital orthographic telemeter. And inside, she holds these little sensors.” He held one up; his was square. “Which, when released into the tornado, will transmit back data on wind speed, pressure, and dew point temperature.”

John saw red, his skin flushing hotly with it. He glanced over at Rodney, who was consulting with the rest of the team over a map spread out on Lorne’s hood. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Don’t do anything stupid!” Rodney called out. “Damn it, Sheppard!”

It was too late. In mere seconds John had hold of Kavanagh’s shirt and pushed him against the side of the SUV, a part of him enjoying the look of terrified indignation on the other man’s face.

“You stole our design, you son of bitch! You think I wasn’t gonna find out?”

Ronon appeared at his side, pulling him off Kavanagh who was then able to settle into wounded snarkiness.

“What’s the matter with you, John? Are you crazy?”

“You stole our design,” John growled back.

“I understand,” Kavanagh said, smug. “You want to take credit for my design. That’s typical.”

“You’re full of crap. She was our idea, mine and Rodney’s, and you know it.”

“Unrealized idea.”

John had to exert a tremendous amount of willpower to keep from punching him in the face, not that Ronon would’ve let him. Rodney was slow to join the party but there was no ignoring him once he was there, arms crossed over his chest belligerently.

“Settle down, John, before you hurt someone. Everyone knows he’ll never get that thing up in the air.”

“Well, let me enlighten you,” Kavanagh said with a sneer. “This baby has satellite comlink. We’ve got on-board pulse Doppler, and NEXRAD real time. Today, I make history. So stick around.”

“Kavanagh, you couldn’t find a tornado in a bottle, much less one on the ground.” Rodney gave him a patented sniff of derision. “Your science is sloppy, your theories laughable, and you have all the instincts of a rock. So no, I don’t think we’ll be sticking around to watch _you_ try to fumble your way to fame.”

He turned his back on the other man, the action speaking louder than words. _You don’t matter_. John concurred, shrugging out of Ronon’s grip. He couldn’t hold that feeling of righteousness for very long, not with Rodney’s piercing gaze focused on him now.

“Stop acting like a child, Sheppard. If you can’t keep your shit together go home. We don’t need your drama.”

Kavanagh, who had been slinking his way to the door of the diner, turned around and said, “By the way, I really enjoy your _weather reports_.” He practically ran the rest of the way when Ronon took a threatening step in his direction.

“He’s a kiss-ass, John.” Lorne scowled. 

“He won’t get it to work,” Rodney said tersely. “You know he won’t.”

John sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “One day, McKay. I’m sticking around for one day to see if she flies, and then I’m out.”

“Of course. Why would I expect _you_ to see anything through?” Rodney turned and stalked away, his shoulders hunched. Nancy filled the space he’d left behind, her brow furrowed in concern.

“Johnny, is everything okay?”

“Fine. It’s fine.”

“Are you sure?” She ran a hand up and down his back and if she couldn’t feel the tension in the muscles there she was incredibly obtuse. But she didn’t push for an explanation.

“I’m good.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead. “I’m gonna hang out here and get some air. Why don’t you get us some cold drinks?”

“Okay.” Nancy pulled him down for a proper kiss and then she was off. 

John walked a little bit up the road, keeping his eye on the sky. He struggled to clear his mind of everything – Rodney’s angry words and Kavanagh’s latest manipulation and the fact that he’d missed all of this so goddamn much. He knew if he worked at it a little he could regain that sense of connection to the weather – the shifts in wind and temperature, the drops in barometric pressure, the way clouds and atmosphere almost spoke to him.

He dropped to one knee and scooped up a handful of dirt, sifting it slowly through his fingers and watching how it drifted. The only priority that demanded his immediate attention was to find the storm and deploy Dorothy. Years of development and design and setbacks all came down to this one moment, this one day, and Rodney was right – he needed to see it through no matter what. He owed it to the team, but mostly he owed it to himself. He needed to stop running.

“Sheppard.” Ronon came up behind him, hands in the pockets of his baggy cargo shorts. “What’s the good word?”

“Goin’ green,” John replied. He nodded up at the sky, which had taken on an undeniably green tint.

“You know that doesn’t mean anything.”

“Jury’s still out on that,” he said amiably. Whether or not a green sky actually predicated a tornado was a topic of debate, but he knew what his gut was telling him. “Saddle them up.”

“On it.” Ronon activated his ear piece and put out the call to everyone to get in their cars and get moving. John pulled the keys out of his pocket and gave the truck a once-over, noting that the tire had been replaced and looked good as new. He paid the mechanic, thanked him, and then met Nancy as she was coming out of the diner with two paper cups in her hands.

“I got you a lemonade…”

John didn’t bother mentioning that he didn’t drink, or eat, anything with citrus. No-one on the team did, even though Rodney was the only one with the allergy. It was overkill maybe, but after Rodney spent three days in the hospital because of wayward lemon juice in his water they stopped taking chances.

“We have to go. Listen, follow us in the truck, but stay behind Ronon’s bus; you’ll be safe back there. I’m gonna ride with Rodney.” John tucked the keys in her pocket and gave her a quick kiss. “Okay, let’s move out people.”

John intercepted Rodney on the way to his Jeep, snatching the keys out of his hands. “Thanks, I’ll drive.”

“You’re not in charge here, Sheppard, or have you forgotten that?” Rodney griped but he got into the passenger seat.

John felt a rush of excitement as he pulled out, leading the pack. He could hear the others over his ear piece, sounding equally happy to be on the chase. Ronon, who had a large speaker on top of the Puddlejumper that hooked into his MP3 player, was blaring out AC/DC’s _Thunderstruck_.

 _It’s the wonder of nature, baby!_ the big guy bellowed. John grinned and glanced at Rodney, who looked reluctantly amused. He could also hear Carson and Laura singing _Oklahoma_.

Once the initial rush had ebbed away, the cab of Rodney’s Jeep filled with awkward silence, aside from the tapping Rodney was doing on his tablet. Back in the day he’d been forever telling him to stop reading all the data on the screen and learn how to read it out of the sky.

“So…” John said, and then realized he had no follow-up.

Rodney seemed to cast about for something to say, and then just inclined his head towards the windshield. “Amazing coloring there, huh?”

“We really gonna to talk about the weather?”

“Does she work at the station? Is there where you met her?”

The abrupt change in conversation left John feeling a bit dizzy. The last thing he wanted to talk about was Nancy, especially with Rodney. There had been a time, right before he left, when he’d thought that maybe…but no. He’d freaked out and he’d left and now he was going to have a normal life, and he wasn’t getting into it with the man who’d once been his best friend.

“I don’t want to fight.”

“I’m not fighting, I’m talking. Even you should be able to tell the difference,” Rodney said sourly. “She seems…uh…nice.”

“Oh, please.”

“What? She’s not?”

“I know what you meant,” John said, hands tightening on the wheel. He knew how Nancy must seem to the others, especially the ones that had been there when he’d first joined the team. He knew she came across a little too highbrow – country clubs and brunches instead of down and dirty field work and power bars. He reminded himself that he wasn’t that person anymore.

“You do? Because all I meant was that she seemed nice. Not the kind of woman you’d go for, maybe, but nice.”

“Oh? And what kind of woman would I go for?”

“I don’t know. I imagine leather and tattoos might be involved, though.” Rodney smirked.

“Nice. So the only girl I can get is some kind of loose biker babe?”

“You asked!”

Silence spread between them again, though Rodney seemed to have abandoned his tablet and was just staring out the side window. John knew it couldn’t last; Rodney didn’t do silent treatment very well.

“So what does she do? Or is she just an empty-headed trophy wife that vacuums in pearls?”

John answered reluctantly; it wasn’t that her job was embarrassing, really, except that a lot of the time it was. “She’s…uh…she’s a therapist.”

“Oh.” There was a pause. “Yours?”

“For the love of…”

“What?”

“I knew you couldn’t resist!”

“I didn’t say you needed therapy, Sheppard,” Rodney replied heatedly.

“What? I need therapy?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“I need a therapist?” John knew he should shut his mouth, but his knee-jerk responses had taken control of his logical mind; he was well aware he sounded like a bitchy teenager.

“I didn’t say that.” Rodney’s tone, though, clearly said he’d been thinking it.

“What could I possibly need a therapist for? Come on, Dr. McKay, enlighten me.”

“Right off the top of my head? Your inability to finish things. Rushing into things you can’t quite commit to…”

“Commitment?” John asked incredulously. “Are you kidding me?”

“You asked me,” Rodney said petulantly.

“That’s rich, coming from you. You have no idea what commitment means, what it’s like to have stability and supportiveness and…and…”

“And what? You shooting for the whole white picket fence, two and a half kids and a dog thing? I thought you were smarter than that, Sheppard.”

“Damnit, Rodney!”

“Someone should warn her about your temper. She obviously had no idea what she’s getting into.”

“Stay the hell out of it.”

“Hard to do that,” Rodney pointed out. “When you’ve trotted her out to the whole team. Yay for you, you got a pretty girl and a glamorous new job. I’ve got better things to do than stroke your oversized ego.”

“Well, you should know plenty about that, your own ego is enormous.”

They glared at each other before John turned back to watching the road. Rodney sighed, sounding weary all of a sudden.

“You know what? As long as you’re happy…”

“Thank you! I’m happy. I’m a happy person. I’m happy with my life. I’m happy with the way things are _going_ in my life. I’m happy with…with, with…”

“Nancy,” Rodney supplied.

“I know her name!” John sputtered, feeling out of control. Why was he doing this? Rodney had a way of pushing his buttons like no-one else could and he’d obviously fallen out of practice in diffusing that particular game.

“Fine. You keep living in the land of denial, if you’re so all-fired happy to be there.”

John had to fight from shooting another glance at Rodney. What had he meant by that? Did he suspect? He had a moment to panic before talking himself back down. Of course Rodney didn’t know, no-one did. He’d worked hard to keep his growing attraction to the other man to himself, and when he’d been unable to keep up the charade he’d left, walked away. He didn’t care if Rodney thought he was a dick for doing it; he was certain if he’d stayed things would have gone to hell in a spectacular fashion. He had a whole lifetime of experience to support that line of thinking.

 _You two gonna wrap this up pretty soon?_ Lorne asked over the radio.

“What?” John snapped.

_Just wondering if we’re gonna chase this tornado or catch the next one._

“Shit!” Rodney exclaimed. John echoed that sentiment silently. He looked out the passenger side window to see the tornado that was dropping out of the wall cloud just as nice as you please. Time to go to work.

*o*o*o*

“Lorne, is it on the ground?” Rodney was now glued to the tablet, while John kept his eyes on the prize. He gunned the engine and made a left, tires squealing.

“Take it easy, Evel Knievel!”

“You worry about the tornado, I’ll focus on the driving.”

_Can you get ahead of it?_

“Yeah. We’re moving in to intercept, get set up.”

_You got it!_

They passed other cars, honking their horns and flashing their lights in warning. John ignored them, trying not to lose sight of the twister, which was now spinning along on the left in a large field, churning up a cloud of dust and debris. It was beautiful

“You need to get further ahead of it,” Rodney instructed.

“I know what I’m doing.” His focus had narrowed, trying to judge the best way to intercept the tornado.

“Cut across the field.”

“I _know_ I have to get ahead of it.” But it had been a year, a year of driving on regular paved roads in a truck that still had all its shocks, with no particular need to hurry anywhere.

“Will you cut across the damn field already? What’s wrong with you?”

“Do you want to drive?” John challenged, though he knew what the answer would be to that.

“It’s my truck, in case you forgot. So yes. Yes, I would like to drive across the field and get in front of the _damn_ tornado to deploy my _damn_ instrument pack and do some _fucking_ science!”

John’s jaw clenched and he had to stop himself from banging his head on the steering wheel. He’d forgotten how snarky Rodney could be, particularly when things started heating up.

“Go in there! Come on, chop, chop!” He pointed to an irrigation ditch, which looked shallow enough that they could drop in one side. Still, John hesitated.

“Hang on a second.”

Rodney had the gall to laugh at him. “You lost your nerve, didn’t you, weather man?”

 _Challenge accepted_. “Tighten your seatbelt!” He reached over and pulled on it himself. 

John took a deep breath and turned the truck into the irrigation ditch with a lurching bounce. He drove along it, trying to find a good place to pop back out and get ahead of the tornado, which was getting closer; he was fighting the wind now, which wanted to push them backwards. He knew almost instantly when they were screwed. The ditch got deeper, the sides too high for them to get the truck out.

Radek’s voice started squawking in his ear. _Rodney, where are you? We lost visual._

“Having fun yet?” John asked. The Jeep was bouncing, jarring his tailbone and he was starting to think they might be in some trouble. The roar of the wind was getting steadily louder and he was losing visibility.

“We have to get out of here!” And there it was, Rodney’s panic attack right on time. 

“Really? Thanks, I wasn’t aware we were in trouble here.” The sarcasm wasn’t helping. John knew how bad Rodney could get, how freaked out the storms made him, but he didn’t have time to coddle him. 

_Funnel’s getting thicker! It’s moving fast, coming toward you!_

The noise level ratcheted up and chunks of wood filled the air as the tornado took out a barn.

“Oh, no. Oh, no.”

John hazarded a look and saw that Rodney had his eyes squinched shut and was clutching his tablet to his chest. He took his hand off the steering wheel long enough to reach over and give Rodney’s leg a squeeze.

“We’re gonna be fine, buddy.”

_It’s starting to turn!_

_McKay you’re too close, it’s not gonna work. Get out of there!_

John looked in the rearview mirror and saw that the tornado was almost directly behind them. It was so loud now that he couldn’t even hear Rodney mumbling to himself. And then suddenly there it was in front of them, a wooden bridge that spanned the ditch and looked sturdy enough to actually give them a chance.

“Hold on, Rodney!”

John hit the brakes but the Jeep continued to skim forward through the mud until it slammed into the bridge. He popped his seatbelt and Rodney’s too, and they both jumped out. Moving forward against the pull of the wind was like trying to walk through molasses, and John didn’t get very far when he realized Rodney was going the other way, around the back of the Jeep.

“Let’s get her out! Come on, Sheppard, move it!”

Was Rodney seriously trying to deploy Dorothy? With seconds to go before the tornado was on them? Single-minded idiot. He fought the wind and moved around the Jeep until he could grab Rodney’s arm.

“We’re in the damage path, let’s go!” He had to fight the wind _and_ Rodney, but he was able to get to the bridge, pushing Rodney underneath it.

“We can still do this!”

“Shut up and grab hold!”

They wrapped their arms around two of the large and hopefully sturdy bridge supports and just held on. John was only dimly aware of someone talking in his ear; he couldn’t hear who it was or what they were saying. He was pretty sure Rodney was too terrified to do anything but cower now that the tornado was upon them.

For six long seconds the world was reduced to the pull of the wind, the spray of mud and dust, the sting of dirt and debris. John kept his eyes tightly shut and tried to ignore how hard his heart was pounding. Tried to ignore the fear that Rodney might let go and get sucked out from under the bridge. 

And then it was all over. The tornado had roped out even before it hit the bridge, which was probably the only reason they were still alive, and was completely gone by the time John and Rodney crawled out. They were both covered in mud and peppered with little cuts. John kept a hand on Rodney’s shoulder; the other man was trembling, but luckily there was a handy distraction to help get his mind back in the game.

“Where’s my truck?”

John and Rodney stared dumbly at each other for a minute, and then both of them whipped around towards the road when they heard the crunch of metal, the squeal of brakes, and Nancy’s high-pitched scream. The Jeep, which had apparently been sucked up by the tornado, had dropped back to earth in the middle of the road right between the Puddlejumper and John’s truck.

“Oh,” Rodney said. “There it is.”

“Nancy!” John scrambled up out of the ditch and ran. His truck was parked at an angle on the road, narrowly having avoided hitting the Jeep. Ronon got there ahead of him, helping Nancy out and making sure she was okay.

“Johnny! Oh my God!”

Heedless of the fact that he was covered in mud, John pulled Nancy into a tight hug; she wouldn’t be wearing the white pants suit again.

“You okay?” he asked.

“I’m okay, I’m okay. Are you okay?” She touched his face, his chest, shaking and near tears.

“She missed the truck,” Ronon said helpfully.

“I’m fine,” John assured her.

“What happened to you?”

“It was nothing, really,” he lied. “We were perfectly safe.”

Rodney went by, his mud-soaked coveralls unzipped to the waist and flopping as he walked. He shot John a quick look before turning his attention to the ruin of his Jeep.

“Gone.”

“Well, now, just a minute,” Carson said with forced positivity.

“It’s trashed,” Rodney said morosely.

“Let’s just take a look.” Radek poked around what remained of the rear of the Jeep, where Dorothy was still mostly strapped in but completely demolished.

John kept half an ear on the proceedings while he continued to comfort Nancy, whispering over and over that everything was okay. He felt bad for scaring her but he was also a little euphoric – they’d faced down a tornado and lived to tell about it!

Laura contemplated the remains of the Jeep. “Well, technically it flew. What was it like?”

Rodney kicked out a window and reached inside to grab his pack. “It was windy.”

“Wow. You really know how to paint a picture.”

“McKay!” Ronon called out, alerting everyone to the arrival of Kavanagh’s fleet of SUVs.

“Auto club’s here,” Laura said with a frown.

John caught a glimpse of Kavanagh’s amused expression as they drove by, unsurprised that he didn’t stop and offer to help. The team glared at him, all except Ronon who easily paced the slow-moving vehicle and stuck his glowering head in the driver’s side window.

“Fashionably late again, Kavanagh? Sorry you missed the tornado.”

“Guess you’ll have to find another one,” Laura shouted out. “If you give us a few minutes we’ll be underway and you can follow!”

John grinned. “Hey, Carson! I like your girlfriend!”

“Get in line, mate!” Carson called back with a grin, swinging her around. Ronon disengaged from Kavanagh’s SUV, revealing the man’s terrified face, and smacked one big hand on the side of it as it moved away.

Meanwhile, Teyla was carefully collecting the spilled sensors off the side of the road. “Lorne, help me with these please. I will clean them up.”

“I will prep Dorothy Two,” Radek said.

Nancy finally calmed down and had started blotting ineffectually at her ruined outfit. John wandered over to where Rodney was digging through his backpack, which he’d propped up on the mangled Jeep.

“Sorry about the Jeep,” he said.

Rodney pulled out a towel, which he used to wipe his face. “You got full coverage on that truck?”

John knew where that was going. “Liability only.”

“Liability only? That’s not very responsible, Sheppard.”

He shook his head. “Don’t even think about it. No way.”

Of course, he’d never been able to deny Rodney when he gave him that crooked grin, which is why ten minutes later – after pushing the Jeep off the road and calling for a tow – he was behind the wheel of the truck with Rodney in the passenger seat and Nancy on the bench seat behind them, heading for the next interception with Dorothy Two strapped down in the back.

*o*o*o*

John had hoped that in the last year he’d developed an immunity to Rodney, hardened himself against the endearingly twisted mouth and frenetic hand flailing; clearly he’d been deluding himself. He prayed his shiny new truck would live to tell the tale.

Laura’s voice came over the radio. _Waiting for orders, boss._

Both John and Rodney reached toward their ear pieces at the same time, then looked at each other, chagrined.

“Go ahead,” John said.

“It’s your truck,” Rodney replied with a half shrug like he didn’t care; John knew he did.

“It’s your team, Rodney. I’m just here for the ride-along.”

He didn’t need further convincing. “The battle zone should be northeast of eighty-one.”

_Copy that._

Nancy leaned forward. “Wait a minute. Battle zone? What are we doing?”

“This storm is likely to drop another tornado,” John explained. “We need to catch up with it and try for another deployment.”

“Again? But back there you almost got yourself killed!”

John reached back with one arm and patted her awkwardly on the leg. “It was just a close call. Don’t worry.”

 _You’re gonna cross fifteen on Oklahoma four-one-two. Four-one-two._ Lorne’s directions came over the earpiece.

“Copy that,” Rodney said, back to tapping at his tablet. “Teyla, what’s on the Mesonet?”

_Winds continuing to back, VILs are at…sixty._

“We’re going after it. Stay close, everyone.”

The chase was on again. John knew they were lucky – most days you only had one chance at catching a tornado, but with the storms stacked up like they were today they stood a better chance of actually getting the job done. Storm chasers got used to disappointment – it was the nature of the beast – but that didn’t mean they had to like it.

John thought they were setting a nice, steady pace until Rodney leaned over and looked at the speedometer with a dramatic sigh.

“Fifty? Really? Old ladies in wheelchairs are pacing you right now.”

John scowled at him but pressed his foot to the accelerator and hoped he didn’t freak Nancy out too much; she was always telling him not to drive so fast. They went around a bend in the road and came up behind a familiar line of black SUVs.

“There’s your pal,” Rodney snorted. “Jackhole.”

John accelerated even more, pulling around the caravan on the right until he was even with the pace car. He and Kavanagh glared at each other, and he was seconds away from infantile hand gestures when the weather grabbed his attention and he slammed on the brakes, looking up through the windshield.

“What the hell are you doing, trying to give me whiplash?”

“Johnny, what…”

He ignored both of them. “Look at the updraft, the angle. It’s gonna shift it’s track.”

Rodney craned his neck to look at what John was looking at, and he slapped the dashboard. “You’re right. Damn! It’s a sidewinder!”

“Is that bad?” Nancy asked.

“Wasn’t there a road back there?” John was already turning the truck around even as he asked the question.

“Yeah, go, go, go!” Rodney tapped his earpiece. “We’re flipping a bitch and heading back to a cutoff. Watch for us!”

Just then Nancy’s cell phone rang, the classical tones loud. “Dr. Carmichael…Donald, now’s not a very good time for me, okay? What…all right, put Julia on. Okay.”

“We’re close,” John said, his eyes on the sky more than on the road. Behind him Nancy was muttering _yes_ and _uh-huh_ over and over. He’d really grown to hate that cell phone, because she had no concept of regular office hours and would take client calls at the most inopportune moments.

Rodney looked out the window. “Lorne, tell me what road we’re on. Where does this take us? Surely those GPS things must be worth something, the way you begged for them.”

_Hang on, McKay. I have to wait for the GPS to recalibrate. Come on, come on. What is this, Bob’s road?_

John bit back a grin, and Nancy’s voice filled the silence while they waited on Lorne’s technology. “I know it feels unnatural, but with Donald’s motility you’re not going to have this baby the old-fashioned way. Even if you stand on your head.”

Rodney gave John a startled look, and John flushed. “She’s a…uh…reproductive therapist.”

There was a suspicious twitch to his mouth, and then he went back to harassing his minions. “Carson? Stop fooling around with that girl and tell me what’s on the satellite. We’ve got to get ahead of this storm.”

Nancy ended her call but kept the phone clutched in her hand. John thought about offering her some words of reassurance, but he wasn’t sure he could come up with anything that didn’t sound condescending or like a complete lie.

_Geez, Rodney. The tornado is south, shifting south. It’s looking like an EF2, possible an EF3._

_Radio chatter has a very large rope on the ground_ , Ronon put in.

 _It looks to be turning_ , Teyla said. _The atmosphere is very unstable._

John had a clear visual and they were right, there was a powerful looking funnel on the ground ahead of them.

“We got it, we got it!” Rodney crowed over the radio.

The sky had darkened dramatically and the rain was now coming down in sheets that the windshield wipers were doing little to keep up with. John had to keep both hands on the wheel to keep the truck from drifting. He tapped his radio.

“We’re getting slammed in here, guys, you better hang back.”

_Copy that. Keep your eyes on the prize._

Rodney scowled at Carson’s comment. He pulled a digital camera out of his bag, preparing to document, but he paused in the act of opening the window.

“Rainbands,” he said.

“What’s that?” Nancy asked.

Rodney pointed. “Look at the surf coming off those fields.”

“Shit! Horizontal rain. Hang on!” John floored it, heading directly towards a causeway that spanned a large lake. The tornado moved with them, sucking up water now instead of dirt and debris. The noise level was tremendous and they had to shout to be heard.

“This is nuts, John! I’ve never seen anything like this!”

“I don’t think anybody has.” 

The tornado was now on their left, paralleling the road they were driving on. John wasn’t sure if it was going to cross over or not, and was worried they wouldn’t be able to outrun it if it did.

“I think…shit. Shit! Multi-vortexes!” A second funnel appeared, moving around the first one. “We’re right under the flanking line!”

“Thanks, Rodney, I can see that!”

“Pardon me for trying to avoid getting rolled! We have to get out of here!”

It was getting harder for John to control the truck, much less see where the hell he was going, and the end of the causeway seemed suddenly very, very far away. All thoughts ceased for a moment as a cow was carried across the road by the winds; John couldn’t be sure but it seemed to still be alive.

“Cow,” Rodney said helpfully.

“Holy Jesus!” Nancy shouted from the backseat.

John yanked his attention back to the problem at hand. “We’ve got drunkards, there’s no path.”

“This is not good, John, not good. Get us out of here!”

“What the hell do you think I’m trying to do, play chicken with them?”

“There’s chickens too?” Nancy had her arm wrapped around John’s headrest, which wasn’t very comfortable for him but he wasn’t about to tell her to back off.

“Floor it!” Rodney barked, hands braced on the dashboard.

John shook his head, hitting the brakes instead; it was too late to try and outrun the twisters, which now numbered three. The truck started to slide in the mud and wind, and he twisted the wheel, doing his best to keep them out of the lake as the storm howled around them.

“Hang on!” he bellowed. He could hear Nancy screaming, saw Rodney’s mouth moving, felt his own heart trying to beat its way out of his chest. The truck did several three-sixties and then in the next moment the wind had died back down and the tornadoes were gone, leaving them more or less pointed in the same direction they’d started out. John and Rodney shared a look and then they were both out of the truck.

“That was awesome!” John hooted, slapping Rodney on the back.

“That’s one word for it,” Rodney replied, two spots of color flaming on his cheekbones. “I can’t believe we didn’t get blown off the bridge. Or blown away altogether. Did you see that fucking _cow?_ ”

Now that the danger was over Rodney was getting into the spirit of things, his eyes alight and his veins probably thrumming with adrenalin. He and John grinned at each other like idiots; John felt himself warming the way he always had under the force of that smile. 

“Johnny?” Nancy was getting out of the truck, very slowly, and she looked shocky. He immediately felt chagrined for forgetting her and abandoned Rodney.

“Are you okay? It’s all over now.”

The rest of the team rolled up and Rodney strutted over to Carson’s blue minivan. “Did you see that? Tornadoes spun us around like a top!”

John had to hide his grin in the face of Nancy’s distress. “It’s okay, sweetheart.”

“No, it’s _not_ okay! This is _not_ okay! Okay?” Her voice broke and he felt incredibly guilty. He’d forgotten what it was like, in the middle of the chase, and had to remind himself that Nancy didn’t have that background; she was a therapist, accustomed to sitting behind a desk all day, and she hadn’t signed up for the crazy the way John had.

“Nancy, I’m really sorry. I didn’t think.”

She sniffled, bravely fighting tears. “You know, when you used to tell me you chased tornadoes? Deep down I always thought it was a metaphor.”

“Did you see the inflow jets on those babies?” Lorne asked, clapping John on the back.

“We were sitting right in the middle of it!” Rodney said.

Radek frowned and examined Dorothy Two. “Let’s hope you did not damage device.”

“It is too bad you could not activate Dorothy when conditions were so favorable.” Teyla leaned against Carson’s minivan. 

“Yes, well, it would’ve been pointless; the tornadoes were short-lived. We need to get those sensors in something bigger, something that isn’t going to rope out after less than a minute on the ground.”

“We cannot afford the pickiness, Rodney,” Radek muttered from the back of John’s truck.

Rodney glowered. “I didn’t put all this time and effort in on the Dorothy project to just throw it in front of any little tornado. It has to count.”

Ronon chose that moment to step in, his sheer size usually enough to intimidate Rodney into silence, at least momentarily. “We’re close to Wakita.”

“No.”

“Aww, c’mon Rodney!” Carson chimed in. “Surely Aunt Vee wouldn’t mind a wee pit stop.”

“No!”

“We crave sustenance,” Lorne said, clutching his stomach dramatically. “Red meat, Rodney.”

“You know she probably has fresh bread, too.” Laura got a dreamy look in her eye. “Or maybe even a peach pie.”

Rodney’s team knew how to properly motivate him, always had. John couldn’t help laughing; it had always been this way and Rodney’s protestations wouldn’t amount for much in the face of his own hunger.

“Well, it _has_ been a while since I ate.”

“You must think of your hypoglycemia,” Teyla said helpfully. “This will surely be a long day and you need to keep your strength up.”

Rodney looked pleadingly at John, who just shrugged. “Sure would be nice to see Vee.”

A cheer went up when Rodney sighed his defeat. In less than five minutes they were on their way to Wakita.

*o*o*o*

There was a time when John was a frequent guest at Aunt Vee’s house, particularly in the off-season. She had raised Rodney after the death of his parents and the two were very close; well, as close as Rodney got to anyone. They were an odd pair, him with his science and algorithms and Vee with her art sculptures, but somehow it worked.

In a way, Rodney was lucky to have her raising him during his formative years. Vee was very open-minded – she never married but also never kept it a secret when she hooked up with men. She let Rodney have his space, she never tried to dissuade him from a career in meteorology, and she threw him a party when he told her he was gay.

She lived in a big old farmhouse right off of Main Street, and used the detached garage as her workshop. Vee dabbled in several different kinds of art, but around Wakita she was well known for her metal sculptures. There were several in the yard, all of them moving in the gentle breeze – one like a Ferris wheel, which was always John’s favorite, and a new one that spiraled down to a narrow point like a funnel cloud; that one had chimes attached that rang out whenever the cupped arms moved.

When they pulled up, ranging out at the edge of the lawn, Vee was in the doorway of the garage giving instructions to a man in a welder’s mask. She was a heavyset woman who preferred long skirts and lots of chunky silver jewelry. She looked up when the caravan arrived, her broad face breaking into a wide smile that only got larger when she caught sight of John.

“Vee!” He got out of the truck and helped Nancy out as well, grabbing her hand and dragging her along next to him. “Vee, how are you?” 

“Johnny! It’s so good to see you!”

He caught her up in a big bear hug, noting more gray in her dark brown hair and a few more lines around her eyes. John had never been very close with his own family and had always considered Vee as much his aunt as Rodney’s.

She pulled back and patted him fondly on the cheek. “Day before yesterday I was telling Rodney how _much_ I miss you! You haven’t seen any of my new work...”

“Not sure we have time for a tour, Vee,” Rodney said as he came trudging over. She gave him a kiss on the cheek and looked him over with a critical eye.

“You’ve seen some action today.”

“Yes I have, and the next bit of action I get is going to be in the form of a shower.” He headed into the house, and Vee was accosted by Lorne, Carson and Ronon; the latter who picked her up and swung her around while she giggled like a young girl.

“Boys!”

Benny, Vee’s gangly black Lab mix, ran around in happy circles, barking and chasing his tail. John left it to the others to do the begging for food. He grabbed the suitcase he and Nancy were sharing out of the backseat and carried it inside. He let Nancy grab a change of clothes and pointed her to the downstairs bathroom where she could get washed up. He grabbed his own clothes and took the stairs two at a time. Rodney was almost at the bathroom door and John edged around him with a big smile.

“Guests first!” he said, zipping into the bathroom and shutting the door on Rodney’s outraged face.

“You bastard! If you use all the hot water I will filet you like a fish!”

“Empty threats,” John called back through the closed door. “We all know you don’t touch fish.”

He drowned out the rest of Rodney’s grumbling by turning the shower on, setting it nice and hot. It felt good to wash off the mud, though he knew his chances of staying this clean by the end of the day were slim to none. It was the nature of the chase, as was the ability to enjoy a shower whenever the chance arose.

The voices of his friends could be heard from downstairs, a pleasant murmuring too distant to make out actual words. John had missed it, enough so that it made him feel vaguely achy. Being part of Rodney’s team was the first place he felt he belonged after he got out of the Air Force; they’d accepted him, taken him in, taught him everything they knew. It wasn’t the same in Wichita. _Rodney_ wasn’t in Wichita.

Suddenly needing to be with his old friends, John cut his shower short. By the time he got downstairs people were already digging into Vee’s t-bone steaks and mashed potatoes, with the gravy that was almost good enough to eat by itself. Which was pretty much the same thing Ronon was explaining to Nancy as he slathered gravy over everything on her plate; she looked a little sick.

“Shower’s free.”

“About damn time,” Rodney muttered, pushing past him, plate of food in his hand. Vee held out a plate similarly weighted down with beef to John, who sighed.

“I really want that.” He sat in an empty spot at the table and dug in.

Rodney only made it as far as the TV on his quest for cleanliness. “How can you watch this garbage?”

John looked over and saw Kavanagh being interviewed on one of the local news stations. “Oh, you guys gotta see this.” He carried his plate with him to the other room and turned up the volume on the TV, slouching in the doorway and eating.

Lorne snickered at the reporter conducting the interview. “Careful, buddy. He’ll steal your microphone.”

_Well, for me, it’s the thrill of the hunt. Man versus nature. Battling with the elements._

Laura booed loudly.

_So as a scientist, can you actually predict tornadoes now?_

“What they hell did they do, import her from Alaska?” Rodney shook his head. “No real reporter from Oklahoma would ask such a stupid question.”

_Well, no, they’re very, very unpredictable, as some of my more unfortunate colleagues found out earlier today._

“Turn him off, please,” Teyla said, her mouth puckered in distaste.

_But we hope to change all that with a system I’ve devised._

“He sucks,” Ronon said.

“Turn it off.”

“Boo!”

John switched off the TV. “What an ass.”

“He really is in love with himself.” Rodney finished choking down his lunch and passed the empty plate to Laura, who was in the process of doing some cleanup. “I thought it was just a summer thing.”

Everyone gathered back around the table, where several pies had materialized in their absence. Laura kissed Vee.

“If I wasn’t with Carson I’d move in here.”

Vee just grinned and tossed a handful of dessert forks on the table.

Ronon settled into a chair and kicked his feet up on the one next to him. “We’ll beat him. He’s no match for you, Sheppard. No-one is.”

“I drink to that!” Radek toasted him with a tall glass of iced tea.

Nancy picked at her mashed potatoes. “Why can’t he beat Johnny?”

Vee settled in at the table as well, with a mug of coffee John knew also contained a splash of whisky. “Johnny’s a human barometer. It’s like the storms talk to him. I’ve seen it.”

“It’s more than that,” Lorne said. “He’s like…crazy. In a good way.”

“We were chasing a storm near Dalton.” Ronon got a predatory look on his face; he loved a new audience.

“You need to get new stories,” Rodney said sourly. John turned to watch as he finally headed up for his shower.

“We’re way too close,” Ronon continued. “And Rodney’s got vid on it – he’s filming it, right? All of a sudden, out of nowhere, this shitty looking Chevy comes pulling up, right in the way.”

Radek picked up the story. “Rodney is yelling. A stranger comes from the car with bottle of Jack Daniels.”

“Naked,” Ronon interjected. 

Nancy’s eyes were wide and John felt himself flushing. It was a stupid story, but it’d become part of the team mythology.

“Buck naked,” Lorne said even though that was before he joined the team.

“He’s without clothes.”

“Half naked,” John said in his own defense, laughing along with the others. The truth of it was that he had no clear memory of that day – how he got to the tornado, why he was naked, and how he got back to the hotel that the team was using.

“Naked,” Lorne reiterated.

Radek took over again, eyes gleaming wickedly behind his glasses. “Rodney yells to him, tells him to move. John walks up to tornado, like walking in park, and throws bottle into it.” He mimed the action.

“Bottle never hit the ground,” Ronon said. “Twister sucked it up.”

Nancy was practically gaping at John by the time the story was over. He imagined it might be hard to reconcile the straight-laced weather man with the crazy, drunken naked guy who had no fear of a tornado. The rest of the team looked at him expectantly, so he said his line with as much dramatic flair as he could muster.

“And that’s why I don’t drink Jack Daniels anymore.”

Everyone roared with laughter, and Ronon clapped him on the back with one huge hand. It was a funny story, but it hadn’t been a funny time in his life, John remembered that well enough. He’d been at loose ends, drinking to forget the friends he’d lost in Afghanistan on that last mission, the one that had gone so fucking wrong. Rodney and the team had saved his life that day, gave him back a purpose, engaged his mind and given him a new way to feel the rush of flying; he’d always owe them for that.

The conversation turned towards work, as they reviewed the tornadoes they’d seen that day. The pies were quickly getting demolished and Nancy just sat and listened, clearly trying to understand.

“That was a good sized twister,” Laura said. “What was that? EF3?”

John shook his head. “Solid EF2.”

“You’ve lost me,” Nancy said almost apologetically.

John leaned forward, elbows on the table. “It’s the Enhanced Fujita Scale. It measures the intensity of a tornado by how much it eats.”

“Eats?” 

“Destroys.” Part of the team’s job was to do damage surveys following a tornado in populated areas. It was often a heart-breaking experience, seeing how one storm could ruin lives and destroy towns. It was the one thing he hadn’t missed when he left.

“Have you looked at the radar?” Laura asked. “I bet we see some EF4s today.”

“That would be very good.” Teyla sipped at a cup of tea. “That is the storm we need for deployment.”

“Four is good,” Lorne said. “Four will relocate your house fairly efficiently.”

“Is there a five?” Nancy asked, to a suddenly silent room. “What would that be like?”

“Finger of God,” Radek murmured.

“Have any of you ever seen one?”

Everyone looked at John, who reflexively looked up; he could hear the shower still running. “Just one of us.”

*o*o*o*

The team was packing up when Laura ran in with a radio. “We’ve got one! EF3, a mile outside Parlaine!”

_… this is a storm that has developed in the past fifteen minutes. First Alert Doppler radar shows that this is a very intense storm…_

Everyone scrambled after that, gathering up their things and popping their earpieces back in. John walked Nancy down the front porch steps.

“I want you to ride with Ronan, is that okay?”

“Okay.” Clearly she’d realized that riding up front wasn’t the safest option.

“What’s the word from NSSL?” Ronan asked.

“The word is _big_ ,” Teyla replied with a grin.

John clapped his hands together. “All right, people, let’s go!”

Rodney trotted outside with a large paper bag, no doubt full of leftovers and possibly everything else Vee had in her fridge. “Where the hell is Kavanagh? Does anyone know?”

Lorne nodded. “I think he’s in Milston, thirty miles out from the storm.”

“Well, then we need to get moving, don’t we. Go! Go! Can we beat him?”

“I’m on it!” Lorne called. He consulted the varied GPS units on his dashboard.

Vee gave Rodney a hug. “Thanks for stopping by.”

“Sorry to eat and run.” Rodney was only ever that apologetic with his aunt, unless the circumstances were incredibly extreme.

John gave her a quick kiss as he hurried past. “Bye!”

“Good to see you, Johnny. Don’t be a stranger!”

Rodney was already waiting next to John’s truck, hand out and fingers snapping. “Keys.”

“Magic word,” John replied with a smirk. Rodney just scowled and snatched them from his hand, getting into the driver’s seat.

“You’re welcome,” he said sarcastically. 

It took less than a minute for everyone to be in their vehicles and ready to go. Rodney tapped his earpiece. “Lorne?”

_Yeah, got it Rodney. We go right through Wakita, and take Myers Road past the fire station. From there, one-thirty-two to forty-four east._

“If you know any shortcuts, let us know,” John said. “We need every second.”

Rodney pulled out, tapping his horn a couple times for Vee. He kept studiously to the speed limit as they drove through Wakita but John knew as soon as they hit the outskirts of town he’d get a lead foot; he’d been known to drive with a scary disregard for his own personal safety sometimes, all in the name of catching the right storm. Which was saying a lot coming from a man who’d screamed with unbridled joy the first time he broke the sound barrier.

“What do you have, Lorne?”

_About a mile up there’s a little detour. We’re gonna take a walk in the woods!_

The road wasn’t much to speak of, more unpaved tractor trail than anything else; John wept for his shocks. He tapped back on the earpiece. “It’s bumpy here, people, so be careful.”

Carson’s voice came on, full of excitement. _See, kids? An ordinary person spends his life avoiding tense situations._

Ronon finished the quote with a war whoop. _Repo man spends his life getting into tense situations!_

John shared an amused look with Rodney. It didn’t take much to get the team revved up and ready for a chase, and they’d always encouraged a bit of silliness to temper the seriousness of what they could be facing. He and Rodney had made an excellent pair, once upon a time. Until John freaked out. He shook off that line of thinking, which was extremely unproductive.

“Lorne, what’ve you got?”

_Turn left toward that farm._

“You sure about that?”

_Trust me. Have I ever steered you wrong?_

John rolled his eyes. It probably wasn’t the best time to bring up Arnett or the whole Nebraska fiasco. Rodney made the left, easing up on the gas because they were driving right through someone’s corn field.

“This is a _field_ , Lorne!”

_I know. Keep going, beyond it. Right through that brush. You see that brush right in front of you?_

“Yeah, we see the brush. What’s beyond that?”

_Beyond what?_

Rodney sputtered. “ _Beyond what?_ Beyond the _brush_ , you ignoramous! A brick wall, a bearded lady, what?”

_Oh. Uh…it’s the highway! It’s the highway!_

John strained his eyes but all he could see was corn, more corn, and a wall of greenery. “Where’s the road?”

“We’re not here to film Children of the Corn!” Rodney shouted. “You are _so_ fired!”

_It should be any moment…_

Just like that they were through the thick brush and on the highway, merging hastily into a lane already filled with Kavanagh’s SUV convoy. There followed much honking of horns, cursing, and rude gestures until John’s team had pulled ahead of Kavanagh’s. The man’s angry voice crackled over the CB radio.

_You’re insane, McKay! Are you trying to get someone killed?_

Rodney grabbed for the radio, fumbling it for a moment before he could respond. “Oh really, Kavanagh? It was so nice of you to stop back there and make sure we were all okay! It was very considerate of you! How could you see people on the side of the road and not stop, you worthless…”

John snatched the radio and hung it back up. “Let’s keep the channel clear.”

“Jackhole,” Rodney muttered.

There was no sense trying to talk to him when Kavanagh got him all riled up, so John kept his eyes on the storm. He eyeballed the wall cloud, taking in the rotation, the inflow bands, and just generally opening himself up to the _feel_ of it all.

“We’re gonna have to get off this road.”

Rodney shot him a look. “This is no time for guessing.”

“I’m not guessing. Just make the next right.” John sighed when it looked like Rodney was going to fight him on this. “Would you trust me please?”

“Sheppard…”

“Just turn!”

With a frown, Rodney made the sharp right while Kavanagh’s caravan continued going straight. He looked like he wanted to make a rude comment but then Carson’s voice was coming over the ear piece.

_We’ve got a touchdown! Tornado is on the ground!_

“Where?” John demanded.

_Looks like it’s coming down Route 33._

“Sheppard, we’re on thirty-three.”

John craned his head, trying to see as much as he could out the window. “What’s the path?”

 _It is going about thirty-five miles an hour_ , Teyla reported.

“Do you see it?” Rodney asked. John shook his head.

“Direction, Lorne!”

_North, northeast._

“I don’t see it!” Rodney snapped.

_North, northeast. Do you copy?_

“Shit! It’s coming right at us!”

Carson was back. _She’s gone vertical. Repeat, gone vertical. She’s gainin’ strength, lads._

“Do you see it?” Rodney was starting to sound like a broken record.

“No.” John tapped the earpiece. “Carson, we don’t have a visual. Repeat, we do _not_ have a visual.”

“Where the hell is it?” The wall cloud was immense, but their view kept getting blocked by terrain.

 _The motion is incredible, John_ , Teyla said. _The base looks to be half a mile wide._

“Lorne?”

_It should be coming right over that hill in a matter of minutes!_

John continued to search the horizon. “It’s gotta be there.”

“Maybe it’s stalled,” Rodney suggested.

“No, I think Lorne’s right. It’s gonna show its ugly face right over that hill. What do you think?”

 _You gonna go for it, McKay?_ Ronon asked.

John could see the moment he decided, his chin coming up and his back straightening; Rodney was getting ready for battle.

“Time for deployment, guys. Let’s go!”

A look in the side mirror showed that the rest of the group was dropping back; they’d find a place to pull off and get set up to collect the data from the sensors, provided Dorothy could be successfully deployed. The sky ahead of them continued to darken and pretty soon chunks of ice began pinging off the hood of the truck.

“We’ve got hail,” he told Rodney.

“Thank you, Captain Obvious. Guys, we’ve got hail. Quarter to golf ball.”

John took a moment to mourn the paint job on his truck. The large hailstones were doing plenty of damage, leaving behind deep dents. One especially big one cracked the corner of the windshield on the passenger side, and he flinched reflexively. 

“Okay?” Rodney asked.

“Yeah. Carson, we’ve got upflow. Copy?”

_Copy that. I’m checking it, it’s almost up!_

“This is it, John.” Rodney gave him an intense look, and he was easily able to interpret it. It was time to make their long-time dream a reality; time to make Dorothy fly.

“I’ll get her ready.” He slid open the back window and slithered through it, wincing as hail battered down on him. He worked quickly, flipping on a series of switches before getting back in the passenger seat. 

“Oh, God, you’re bleeding!”

“Relax, Rodney. It’s nothing.” Which was mostly true, though no less painful. He’d have some nice bruises on his arms by the end of the day.

 _That’s no moon, it’s a space station!_ Lorne shouted gleefully.

The hail ended, but it was replaced by debris. Nothing small, either, but incongruous stuff like a kayak and some kid’s trike, which slammed against the side of the truck.

“Debris!” Rodney shouted into the ear piece. “We have debris! Are you guys set up? We’re not leaving till we get this!”

_They’re in the bear cage!_

“This is fine, Rodney! Stop here!”

“No, we have to get closer, just a little closer.” His hands were white-knuckled on the steering wheel but he was determined as always. Then his eyes went wide as a small motorboat went flying past them.

“Rodney, stop!”

“You’re right. You’re right. Close enough.” He slammed on the brakes and John braced himself on the dashboard to keep from hitting his head. As soon as the truck was stopped they both got out. “Hurry, get the tailgate!”

“Is she ready?”

“Yeah, she’s all set, help me get her down. Let’s move!”

The funnel, dark with dirt and debris, was headed their way. There was some kind of explosion – likely a power transformer caught in the storm – at the base of it, which made Rodney flinch.

“Hurry up, Sheppard!”

John was trying to remove Dorothy from the back of the truck, but one of the straps was caught up on something. They were out of time.

“Damn! We gotta go, Rodney. Now!”

“We can do this, come on! Don’t quit on me now!”

John grabbed Rodney by his shoulders and turned him. “Look! It’s pulling the power lines down! We can’t stay here!” The lines were sagging and sparks were literally flying as the poles were sucked up in the air one after another. The one nearest them started shaking in its moorings.

“Get down!” He bellowed, knocking into Rodney and taking them both to the asphalt. The pole came crashing down, right onto the bed of the truck. There was a shower of sparks as it slid, knocking Dorothy off the back. The instrument pack crashed to the road and the lid popped open, scattering the sensors.

“No!” Rodney screamed in frustration.

John looked up, expecting to see the funnel cloud, but there was no sign of it at all. “Where the hell is it?”

_What’s the Doppler say?_

_What the hell?_

Carson sounded morose. _It’s over, guys. The thing was stable, and then…well, it’s just gone._

John got to his feet and hauled Rodney up with him. The sky overhead was still dark, and there was still visible rapid rotation.

“It’s back-building,” Rodney said. He repeated it for the benefit of the team. “We’ve got to track it!” 

_We know, Rodney_ , Carson said. _Data’s incomplete. I think you should get out of there. Copy?_

But Rodney didn’t answer; he was scrabbling along the road, picking up the sensors. “Help me, Sheppard!”

“We need to leave, Rodney.”

“No, no, no. We’re too close. Help me!”

“Forget the damn sensors! We have to get out of here now! It’s gonna drop!”

“Carson’s on it! He’ll see if it drops anywhere near us. He’ll…”

“It’s not gonna drop anywhere near us, it’s gonna drop right _on_ us!” He pulled Rodney away, making him drop the sensors he’d gathered up. “Get your ass in the truck!”

“Stop strong-arming me! We’re not giving up!”

John ignored him, pushing him bodily into the driver’s seat and over the console, following him in. He immediately put the truck in gear before Rodney could get back out, driving backwards away from the tornado; he accidentally sideswiped Dorothy, knocking it to the side of the road.

“Go back! Go back! It’s not too late!”

The tornado dropped back down in front of them, but it soon swung to the left, leaving the road and moving off. John stopped the truck as soon as they were safely away, and Rodney was out before he even had it in park. He went right back to collecting sensors.

“I _knew_ you wouldn’t help me, you asshole!”

“What are you doing?” John got out of the truck. They were catching the edge of the storm now, the heavy rainfall quickly soaking them.

“I’m not giving up!”

“Rodney, the pack’s wasted, it’s over. We can’t save this one!”

“What the _hell_ is the matter with you?” Rodney threw down the sensors. John could read the emotions on his face so well – anger and crushing disappointment.

“Jesus, Rodney, you’re obsessed! Do you know how crazy you look right now?”

“Don’t you fucking talk to me about obsessed!” Rodney shoved him, hard. “You don’t understand, _none_ of you do! I need to _know!_ ”

“What, Rodney? What they hell do you need to know this bad?” John knew he was pushing, in a way he’d never felt comfortable doing before. Maybe it was the time he’d spent away, the perspective he’d gained, or perhaps it was just the fear that if Rodney kept going on the way he was he’d seriously hurt himself. Or worse.

“I need to know why I’m _alive!_ ” Rodney shouted, sounding distraught. “All those people, John! My parents! Jeannie! Why _me?_ Why did I survive when no-one else did?”

John couldn’t stand it, couldn’t bear to hear him so anguished. He’d always known that this was what drove Rodney, a kind of survivor’s guilt that pushed him to make sense of it all using the structure of algorithms and equations, a cage of logic to trap a random force of nature. He said the words he’d been running from for the last year, and hoped it would be enough.

“You want to know why you survived? I’ll tell you, asshole! You _had_ to, because I needed you! I _still_ need you!”

Rodney just stared at him, chest heaving and hands clenched into fists. Rain ran down his face, into his eyes, but he didn’t look away. John stared right back, willing him to believe, to understand. In the end, Rodney’s expression shut down and he was the one to turn away.

“Let’s clean up our mess and get the hell out of here.”

John could’ve stopped him, made him acknowledge what had been said, but he just sighed and helped collect up the sensors and put battered Dorothy Two back in the truck.

*o*o*o*

There was no more action to be had by the time darkness fell, at least not safely, and the team found themselves encamped at a motel that was directly adjacent to both an auto body garage and a drive-in theater. They were enjoying some downtime, getting their equipment squared away, eating less-than-healthy snacks from the concession stand, and rehashing the events of the day.

John had left Nancy in the motel room and was just wandering aimlessly, trying to figure out how things had gone so sideways. Two days ago he’d been the voice of Wichita’s weather, going out to dinner with Nancy and her friends, and generally feeling fairly content with his life. He’d almost convinced himself he was happy.

As usual, Rodney had thrown him off his game. Just as he had a year ago, when John realized that his feelings for the man were more than just friendly. They’d spent inordinate amounts of time together, even outside the lab; chess games, Star Trek marathons, weekends with Aunt Vee. Eventually he’d started to imagine having more, wondering what it would be like to kiss Rodney, or hold his hand, or share the same bed with intent rather than necessity while on the road. That had been enough to send him running, because John had always considered himself to be a red-blooded, heterosexual man; he’d never before been physically attracted to another man.

Now that he’d had some distance, John knew the truth wasn’t that he was attracted to men – it was that he was attracted to _Rodney_. Rodney, with his acerbic personality and single-minded focus and fears of the dark. Rodney, with his brilliant brain and his strong hands and his ability to see brilliance in others that might otherwise have gone unnoticed. Of course, having all of this information didn’t help at all. Rodney didn’t want him, and John had responsibilities back in Wichita, not the least of which was Nancy.

“Seven coffees.”

Rodney was at the concession stand, and John wandered over to join him. The big screen behind them was showing The Shining, and it was warm enough that lots of people were lying out on top of their cars.

“Two coffees, please.” He turned towards Rodney. “Long day.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I’ve been thinking about the sensors. The way they scattered out there today on the highway. I’m starting to wonder if the funnel will carry them like we thought.” He kicked himself again for leaving before the project had been completed; this was something that he would’ve thought of back in the testing phase.

“Too light?” Rodney asked. His voice gave nothing away; he could’ve been discussing pork futures or the value of all-weather tires.

“Don’t know. Maybe the whole thing’s too light.”

“How do you suggest we fix that?”

John shrugged. “I’m not sure. Give me some time to think about it.”

“Take all the time you need.” Rodney’s coffees were ready and he accepted the two cardboard carry trays, but paused for a moment. John held out some money to pay for them when he saw what Rodney was looking at – the little TV behind the counter, which had been playing some kind of slasher movie, had gone to static.

Rodney carelessly dropped the trays on the nearest picnic table and turned in a slow circle, looking up though there was nothing to see but darkness; cloud cover was hiding the night sky. The wind, which had been gently blowing, suddenly picked up and John could feel it prickling all along his skin. Thunder rumbled, and he turned towards the north, eyes straining to see in the darkness.

The moment was broken by Ronon, who came running from the garage where he’d parked the Puddlejumper. “McKay! Sheppard! It’s coming! It’s headed right for us!”

John felt his stomach drop. “It’s already here. Everybody underground! _Now!_ ”

As if on cue the tornado sirens started to sound, and Nancy came running. John grabbed her hand and headed for the garage. The wind whipped up even more, blowing paper and Styrofoam containers around. There was a definite rumbling now, a muted roar that he was all too familiar with, and he looked over his shoulder to see Rodney still standing there, transfixed.

“Rodney! _McKay!_ Come on!”

That seemed to snap him out of it. He ran to the concession stand and banged on the window to warn the girls behind the counter. “Get underground! Take cover right now!”

People were panicking and screaming, but most of them seemed to be following John to the garage, where Ronon was holding the door open for him. He handed Nancy off and turned back for Rodney.

“Sheppard!” Ronon shouted.

“Move it, Rodney!” John called out, his heart in his throat. Tornadoes were dangerous enough without having one come under cover of darkness; there was no way to track it. Lightning flashed, leaving the afterimage of a large stovepipe tornado burned on his retinas. This was bad.

Rodney stopped to grab a wayward teenager, dragging her along with him. John shoved them both through the doors and then helped Ronon secure them.

“Everybody down in the pit! Get down, everybody down! Move, Rodney, goddamn it!” He herded everyone down into the bay beneath the auto lifts and had them all sit on the concrete floor. 

The wind was deafening and the sides of the garage began to shake. All of the windows imploded simultaneously and John curled himself over Nancy, shielding her as best he could. She was screaming, but her cries of distress were no match for the cacophony of the storm. Whole sections of the sheet metal roofing lifted off or swung down. Hubcaps started sailing through the air like deadly Frisbees and John glanced up just in time to see one glance off Radek’s forehead.

Rodney was at his side immediately, using his hand to apply pressure to the shallow slice in the skin that was already sending sheets of blood down Radek’s white, shocked face. John could see Rodney’s lips moving but couldn’t hear what he was saying.

“It’ll be over soon!” John shouted.

“This is insane!” Nancy screamed, her mouth next to his ear. “This is insane! I don’t like this! I can’t do this anymore!”

“Stay calm!”

“Fuck you!”

Lorne’s Subaru was blown through the wall of the garage like a missile, where it fetched up against the metal railing surrounding the pit. John hunched over, still trying to protect Nancy, but though the railing bent under the pressure and weight, it held the car from dropping on their heads. There was more noise as the drive-in sign, still partially lit, swung in through the roof like a pendulum; the momentum carried it right on through and out the other side.

After that it was all over. The winds died down as the lights flickered and then went out. Small pieces of wood and paper drifted down on them, and the sudden silence was deafening. Someone switched on a flashlight they’d had the presence of mind to bring along and handed it to John, who helped direct everyone back out of the garage.

The drive-in was a complete loss, just a pile of debris and mangled cars. The motel was mostly untouched, though the garage sustained heavy damage. With the exception of Lorne’s car, the rest of the team vehicles survived the tornado mostly intact. The whole team stood around in a tight cluster, unnerved but relieved. Rodney had taken off his t-shirt, which Radek kept pressed to his head.

“You okay, buddy?” John asked him.

“Flesh wound,” Radek joked weakly.

Nancy was shaken, her face still pinched with fear, but she was visibly trying to pull herself together. “Is that what it was like up on that hill?”

Lorne shook his head. “That? No. We were lucky – those were just downdrafts and micro bursts. Tornado side-swiped us.”

Rodney clapped his hands, which sounded like a gunshot. “Get on the radar, I need to know where this thing is going. Lorne, can you save any of your GPS units?”

“I’m on it.” Lorne disappeared back into the garage.

Police sirens started to sound in the distance, and John hoped that meant help was on the way. He had no way of knowing if anyone was trapped in the debris.

Carson poked his head out of his car. “It’s backing northeast. It…ah…it looks to hit Wakita head on.”

All the blood drained from Rodney’s face and John was worried he might pass out, but he quickly rallied. “We’re going. We’re going. Let’s go! Lorne!”

“Move out!” Ronon bellowed.

“Hang on, Rodney!” John called out, but there was no stopping the other man as he moved frantically from vehicle to vehicle, checking storm data.

“Where’s the phone?”

Carson shook his head. “The lines are down, Rodney, I already tried.”

“Okay, we’re going.”

“Damn it, Rodney, hang on! I’ll drive.” John hurried over to Nancy, passing Lorne on his way.

“Look, we can jump the thirty-eight exchange and cross highway one-thirty-two,” Lorne said, poking at his Garmin.

John nodded absently and grabbed Nancy’s hands in his, giving them what he hoped was a comforting squeeze. “I gotta go.”

She nodded. “I’m going back.”

John tried not to feel relieved that she didn’t want to tag along this time; he was going to have a hard enough time wrangling Rodney as it was, especially since he was also worried about Vee. “Good. You’ll be safe at the motel. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“No. You won’t.”

He wasn’t expecting that, and it caught him up short. “What? Why? What are you saying?”

“I’m saying goodbye.” She sounded…resigned.

“What? No…”

“I didn’t realize until we came here how little of you I had. You need to stay, Johnny. You’re more… _real_ here. And he…he needs you. More than I do.”

“I never meant for this to happen,” John said with absolute sincerity. He would’ve married her, would’ve tried to make a life with her. It had never been his intention to hurt her, but maybe it had been unavoidable. Another fuck-up he had to take responsibility for. It didn’t help that he felt guilty for feeling a little relieved, as if a weight had been lifted that he hadn’t even realized he was carrying.

“I know, Johnny. It’s okay.”

“Sheppard!” Ronon called.

“Go ahead. They need you. I hope Aunt Vee is okay.”

“What about you?”

“Oh, don’t worry about me. I know my way home.”

John watched her walk away, taking his normal life with her. He was starting to think that normal wasn’t all it was cracked up to be.

“We can be in Wakita in about an hour,” Lorne said. “Come on, John!”

He took a deep breath and nodded, sprinting to the truck. Rodney was already in the passenger seat, fingers nervously tapping on the center console. He’d found a new shirt to change into, one that said _Ask Me About Meteorology_ on the front in bold red letters.

They pulled out just as police and rescue vehicles were pulling in. Lorne had taken over driving for Radek, who had received medical treatment from Carson and had his head wrapped in gauze, because Teyla wasn’t comfortable behind the wheel. Driving during a storm chase was not unlike combat driving; not everyone could do it.

“Nancy stay at the motel?” Rodney asked distractedly.

John gave him a sideways look, but his face was unreadable. “Yeah. She’s, uh, she’s going back to Wichita.”

“Oh.”

Rodney was getting twitchy again and John reached out to clasp his shoulder. “Vee’s going to be fine.”

“I know. It’s just…you know, she’s all I have left.” His voice broke a little at the end and he turned away to face the window.

“That’s not true, and you know it.”

“John…”

“Rodney, look, just…”

“No!” Rodney hunched in on himself. “Don’t make promises you won’t keep, John. Not again.”

John winced, but there was nothing he could say. He knew it had hurt Rodney, the way he’d left, particularly because it was so hard for the man to get close to other people in any significant way. And really, he had no idea what to do now. He couldn’t promise to stay, though the longer he was with the team the more he wanted to.

“Lorne, do you have any short cuts?”

_I’m working on it, Rodney. We’ll get there as soon as we can._

“Make it sooner.”

John pushed harder on the accelerator. There was a lot of uncertainty in his life right now, but one thing was clear – he needed to get Rodney to Wakita, needed to make sure Vee was okay. Everything else could wait.

*o*o*o*

In the midst of the chase, with adrenalin pumping through your veins as you searched for the perfect funnel cloud, it was easy to forget that lives could be destroyed, family homes leveled, whole neighborhoods wiped off the map. Most of the chasing happened out on the plains and it was easy to think of nothing but the power, the beauty of the storm. But Rodney never forgot; he always got white around the mouth and pinched around the eyes when the storms they chased moved near towns, communities, farms.

When they rolled into Wakita he looked haunted. It was less a town and more a war zone. Historical buildings had been reduced to rubble, and one entire side of Main Street had been completely flattened; there was nothing even recognizable as a structure anymore. Power lines were down all over, the only light coming from police cars, rescue vehicles and news vans.

They weren’t able to get close enough to Vee’s house with their own vehicles because the road was too clogged with debris. Rodney was the first one to strike out on foot and John was quick to catch up, worried the other man might hurt himself in his haste. Ronon, Lorne and Radek all carried high-powered flashlights to help guide their way.

“Oh, no,” Rodney whispered.

Vee’s beautiful farmhouse was still standing, though the second floor was now more like the first floor and the walls were canted inwards as if it would collapse in on itself at any moment. Half the roof was gone and only one wall of the garage still stood. The big tree in the front had been completely uprooted, and those that remained were full of random bits of clothing, sheet metal, and one even contained the entire mangled frame of a bicycle.

Rodney broke into a run and it was all John could do to keep up with him. No time to worry about twisting an ankle.

“Rodney, wait!”

“Vee!” 

“Rodney!” John was too late to stop him from climbing up the porch roof, which collapsed enough to serve as a ramp of sorts to the second floor.

“Sheppard! Catch!” Ronon tossed him a flashlight.

“Thanks. Hey, get an EMT over here if you can, she’s going to need some medical attention.”

“On it.”

John scrambled up the roof after Rodney, who had already climbed in one of the broken windows. “Be careful, this house is ready to go.”

“Vee!”

They were in a bedroom; a dresser toppled over as they made their way carefully past it. Rodney flinched and backed into John, who steadied him with one hand.

“Careful.”

“Vee? Vee!”

“Shh. I heard something.”

Rodney’s mouth snapped shut and they both listened as hard as they could. One minute seemed to stretch forever as they heard the house creaking and groaning ominously around them, but then it came again – a dog’s whimper.

“Benny!”

Rodney hurried toward the noise of the frightened dog and almost fell through a hole in the floor; John grabbed his collar and yanked him back.

“Jesus! Will you _please_ be careful? One rescue at a time.”

John’s heart was pounding. He was worried the house was going to come crashing down on their heads before they could get to Vee.

“Okay, nice and easy, buddy. Follow me.” He inched towards the hole and swung the flashlight around, assessing the situation. Just then the floor lurched, dropping several inches, and John slid through the hole; the ragged edge of flooring caught his arm and opened up a long gash.

“John!”

“I’m okay! Come over, nice and easy.” He’d dropped down onto the couch and helped ease Rodney down to join him. There was a much larger hole down there, and when John aimed the flashlight down into it he could see Benny, a bit bedraggled, looking back up at him.

“She’s down there, I know she’s down there.” Rodney leaned over the hole, one hand clutching John’s arm. “Vee! We’re coming!”

Using furniture and broken lengths of floorboard, John and Rodney were able to climb down into the basement. Vee was lying on an old mattress, a toppled wooden shelf on top of her; she was in her nightgown and bleeding from a nasty-looking head wound, but she was awake and breathing.

Rodney dropped to his knees beside her, hands fluttering out to touch but not landing for fear of hurting her. John carefully lifted the shelving unit and tossed it to the side.

“Are you okay? It’s Rodney, I’m right here.”

Vee sat up, with help, her eyes not quite focused. “I’m okay. I’m fine.”

A chunk of the floor above them dropped down about a foot and sent the old, bulky thirty-two inch TV skidding in their direction.

“Look out!” John shouted. He and Rodney both threw themselves over Vee, but the TV landed just shy of them in a spray of broken glass and plastic. That seemed to help Vee focus.

“We should go.”

“Can you walk?” John asked. She nodded, wincing as she did so; he wondered what other injuries she had that they couldn’t see. He helped her stand up, then waited for Rodney to regain the first floor before boosting Vee up to join him.

“Johnny! Bring Benny. I think he’s a little shook up.”

“I’ve got him.” John turned and picked up the dog, who was trembling with fear. “It’s okay, boy. We’re getting out of here.”

He handed Benny up to Rodney, and then climbed up himself. They repeated the process to get to the second floor. Just as they were close to escaping there was a rending noise and the whole house shifted, dropping down several feet. John went sprawling, almost back through the hole, but he kept one hand on Benny’s collar and the other on the window frame. Rodney pressed Vee up against the wall and pinned her there, feet braced.

“Sheppard!” Ronon shouted from right outside the window.

“We’re okay! We’re coming out!” he shouted back.

“Get an ambulance over here!” Rodney ordered. He handed Vee over to Ronon, who thought nothing of picking her up and carrying her back down to street level, where Carson was waiting with his first aid bag. Rodney helped John get Benny out the window, passing the dog over to Lorne, and then they were all safely out.

Rodney stayed glued to Vee’s side while Carson looked her over; he was pretty sure she had a concussion but wanted to wait for the EMTs to give her a full once-over. John looked down at himself, covered in dust, dirt and blood, and thought about the shower he’d taken at the house earlier in the day; seemed like a lifetime ago now.

They had to wait ten minutes for an EMT and an ambulance. Ronon had gone off with Lorne to check the neighboring houses to see if anyone needed help. They’d just gotten Vee up on a gurney when the house gave up the ghost and collapsed with a groan and a splintering of wood. All John could think was what would’ve happened if they hadn’t gotten there in time; it would’ve killed Rodney to lose his aunt that way.

While Rodney stayed with Vee, John climbed into the back of Ronon’s bus to monitor the news reports and radar. Plus, it was a convenient place to hide while his hands shook with what-might-have-beens. Carson eventually sniffed him out, tsking over the gash on his arm and taking care of cleaning and bandaging it.

“You did good, John.”

“We could’ve been too late.”

“But we weren’t.” He put the last bit of surgical tape on the gauze and gave John’s shoulder a squeeze. “Vee will be okay, and so will Rodney.”

“Yeah. I know.”

Carson just nodded and went to see if there was anyone else who could benefit from some basic first aid. John went back to staring blindly at the monitors, letting the information wash over him without really absorbing any of it.

_The EF4 that hit Wakita has now moved to the northeast. I’ve just gotten word that an even stronger tornado has now started to form twenty-five miles south of Wakita right where the two storm systems have finally met. The National Weather Service is saying that this is highly unusual and that this latest tornado could be the strongest EF5 tornado that the state has seen in more than thirty years._

John remained zoned out until he heard the ambulance leave. He turned to watch it go and was surprised to see Rodney standing outside the bus, watching him. He’d thought for sure that Rodney would go with Vee to the hospital.

“You hurt yourself.”

John looked down at his freshly bandaged arm. “Just a scratch. How’s Vee?”

Rodney shrugged wearily. “Concussion, like Carson said. Broken wrist. Assorted bumps and bruises, but she’ll be okay. They’re keeping her overnight.”

“Do you need a ride to the hospital?”

“I wanted to thank you.” He looked down at his hands, which he was wringing together nervously. “You didn’t have to stick around but you did. So…thanks.”

“I love her too, you know,” John said softly.

Rodney nodded, looking away. “I know. It’s just…just…I…” He stopped talking, staring at something John couldn’t see.

“Hey? You okay?”

Rodney waved a hand at him, which usually indicated that he needed silence. Clearly he was working something out. John loved to watch him during these moments of epiphany, when he could practically hear the other man’s brain churning right before he popped out with something brilliant.

Radek came running over, a radio in his hand and a nervous look on his face. “Rodney.”

“Not now, Radek.”

“It’s NSSL. They predict an EF5.”

Rodney snapped out of his reverie, a big grin on his face. He spun around, pointing first at Radek and then at John. “You, stay here. You, come with me.”

“Rodney, what?”

“No time, no time, let’s go!”

John let himself be dragged back to the remains of Vee’s house. When they got there Rodney looked at him expectantly.

“Well?”

“Well what?” John countered. 

Rodney sighed, and put his hand over John’s eyes. “Don’t look, listen.”

He did as instructed, and there was no shortage of sound in the immediate area; sparking power lines, the cries and murmurs of displaced families, the chimes on Vee’s sculpture…

“Oh, God! You’re a genius!” John pulled Rodney’s hand away, looking to see Vee’s twisty metal sculpture; it was still in place, turning lazily in the light breeze.

“We can make Dorothy fly,” Rodney said, clearly pleased. 

John tapped his earpiece. “Listen up, gang. We need cutters and duct tape. Lorne, Ronon, I want to get the last Dorothys on the back of my truck.”  
“I need every aluminum can you can find,” Rodney added. “Let’s get ready to move out!”

John tugged Rodney back to their vehicles so they could rough out sketches. The storm had battered them, but they weren’t beaten yet!

*o*o*o*

There was a reason that Evan Lorne was the team’s navigator. He had a way of finessing any GPS system – and he had three – but there was also a natural sense of direction that had only rarely led them wrong. No-one was perfect, and driving two hundred miles in the wrong direction in Nebraska could’ve happened to anyone. Lorne more than made up for his past mistakes by finding the team a redemption center full of bins containing cans and bottles meant to be recycled. It was on their way and better yet closed for the night, which meant they didn’t have to negotiate with anyone; Ronon kicked the door in and Rodney left a check to cover damages and pilfered cans.

The creation of aluminum “wings” to attach to the sensors took place in the Puddlejumper, which had the most room to move around in. Laura was recruited for the unforgiving job of cutting and crimping the aluminum, as were Teyla and Radek. Rodney took over driving the Puddlejumper so Ronon could pitch in as well, which let him be on hand to criticize and cajole the others into doing the job to his satisfaction.

“How’s it going over there, Rodney?” John asked. “Your sweatshop finished yet?”

 _We’re good to go_ , Ronon replied. _Right, McKay?_

_Yes, yes. It’s adequate. Let’s find a shady spot, Sheppard._

“Copy that.”

John drove on until he found a wide enough spot on the shoulder to safely park the caravan. The sun was coming up, though that was mostly supposition since the sky was overcast and stormy, and a large tornado was slowly growing massive right in front of them. He hopped out of the truck and climbed up into the bed, opening the lids of both remaining Dorothys. 

“We need to get medical,” Teyla said, handing up a box of altered sensors. Her hands, like those of her fellow teammates, were covered in cuts and wrapped in Band-Aids and gauze. 

“Dorothy flies and medical will definitely go on the list,” Rodney promised. Several more boxes of sensors were passed up to John, who dumped them in the canisters. When the last box had been emptied he secured the lids and gave each one a good-luck tap.

“We’re good.”

“Okay, guys, get ready to monitor.” Rodney favored them all with an uncharacteristic smile. “We’re gonna do it this time.”

“Go Team McKay!” Laura shouted, high-fiving Lorne. “We’re back in business!”

“Move out!” Ronon ordered. Benny, who had been riding shotgun with Lorne, barked his approval.

The caravan got back underway, after a brief tug of war between John and Rodney for the truck keys; John’s longer arms assured his victory, though he had to suffer bruised shins.

“This has to work,” Rodney said quietly. “John, this…if it doesn’t…”

“It _will_. You built it, and you’re a genius.” He spared a glance and offered up his most sincere grin. “I believe in you.”

Rodney snorted. “When you say stuff like that you look absolutely ridiculous, you know that?

“I was totally sincere,” John said indignantly. 

“No-one with that hair is _totally sincere_.”

“There’s nothing wrong with my hair.”

“It defies gravity. It laughs mockingly at every law of physics.” Rodney’s arms waved as he struggled to explain all the ways that John’s cowlicks offended science. John just rolled his eyes and made token protests; he knew it was just Rodney’s way of deflecting – McKay _displayed_ his emotions, he never _discussed_ them.

 _Tornado on the ground!_ someone said over the CB radio.

_I see it!_

Which was an understatement. The massive wedge was moving rapidly off to their left, already darkened with debris. Rodney twisted in his seat, watching with wide eyes.

“Laura, are you getting this?”

_I’m on it, Rodney. God, that’s one photogenic tornado!_

“It’s gonna cross the road,” John said, splitting his attention between the storm and driving.

“Half a mile more,” Rodney directed.

“Sounds right. I figure we’ll put her right in the middle of the road.”

“Unless you think somebody’ll hit it.”

John shook his head grimly. “Nobody’ll be there.”

Storm chasers drove in where all others feared to tread. The tornado was big enough that most people would be smart enough to stay away from it. John and Rodney, on the other hand, would be putting themselves dangerously close. 

After they’d achieved that half mile John braked hard and spun the wheel, turning the truck. He got out and ran around to the back to help Rodney get Dorothy Three out. The wind was howling, pulling at John’s clothes and hair. They carried the unit out the center line and turned it on.

“Hurry! Let’s go!”

“You got it?”

“She’s all set.”

They ran back to the truck and Rodney immediately got on the line with the team. “Ronon, you guys in position?”

_Primed and ready for contact, McKay._

“Waiting for intercept.”

John drove a safe distance away before throwing the truck in park.

“This is it.” Rodney’s chin was set.

“It’s gonna work.”

“Just another minute, guys.”

_We’re ready for it!_

Rodney pulled out the digital recorder and slid out the open truck window so that he was sitting on the door. John followed suit, using one hand on the roof to brace himself with. He shared a look with Rodney, the other man’s face an open display of emotion. John reached across and grabbed his hand, and they both turned to watch the show.

As the tornado crossed the road in front of the instrument pack, Dorothy Three began sliding back and forth along the asphalt, and John had a sinking feeling in his gut.

“Come on. Take her! Take her!” Rodney kept up his chant, mostly under his breath, but it wasn’t going to happen.

“It’s too light,” John said.

“No it’s not!”

Dorothy continued to skid around, buffeted by the high winds. “We’re losing it!”

“No we’re not! She can still fly!”

The argument was cut short when a good sized length of tree limb came flying out of the tornado, barreling into Dorothy and knocking it over. Rodney looked crushed, but John was more interested in the fact that the tree was still moving and heading right for them.

“Crap!” He smacked Rodney on the arm. “We gotta go!”

“Oh, no.”

They both slid back into their seats and hastily buckled up, but it was too late; the tree hit them from behind and jammed them up so that both rear tires were completely up off the road.

“Get us off this thing!” Rodney shouted.

“Come on! Come on!” John pushed the accelerator all the way to the floor, but the tires kept getting caught up on the tree. He took his foot off the gas, popped the truck in neutral, and dropped it into four wheel drive.

“John! Let’s go! Hurry!”

The tornado was getting uncomfortably close now, the inflow pulling everything inwards including the mounted truck. He got a little more traction in four wheel drive but he wasn’t sure it would be enough.

“What is _that?_ ” Rodney’s voice was high and tight and he had a white-knuckled grip on the door handle.

John glanced up and then froze. Something was moving inside the tornado, something big and metallic. “What the hell _is_ that?”

“Hurry! Hurry!”

“This is not good.”

The object finally broke free of the outer wall of the tornado and headed right for them. It was a tanker truck and it was coming in fast, sideways and airborne.

“Hold on!” John gave the gas everything he had and finally – _finally!_ – the tires caught and he was able to move the truck off the damned tree limb.

“Go!” Rodney shouted.

John hesitated, though, when he lost sight of the tanker in the rearview mirror, and that saved their lives. The tanker dropped down, hard, a hundred feet in front of them and exploded. John gunned it and yanked the wheel to the left, driving off the road completely and briefly through the wall of flame and smoke before they popped out on the other side. 

“Son of a bitch,” he murmured, and let out the breath he’d been holding.

_John! Rodney! You alright? Can you guys hear me?_

“We’re okay, Lorne,” John replied. “Right buddy?”

Rodney just gaped at him, pale and wide-eyed.

_Did you see that explosion?_

“Yeah. We saw it.” John couldn’t resist checking the rearview for another look. There was a smaller explosion, presumably as the gas tank caught fire.

_It’s still moving northeast on eighty, you copy?_

“Copy that.” Rodney looked at John. “This is it. Last one.”

“Last time,” he agreed.

“Lorne, we need to get out of the direct path of this storm.”

_Copy. Keep your heading, then make a left on twenty-three._

“Copy that.” Rodney turned to the window, to keep an eye out for their turn, and then Kavanagh’s voice crackled over the CB radio as he talked to his own team.

_…alongside her. We’re getting ready to intercept, so hold back a bit, prepare to monitor._

John sighed. “They have position. They could make it.” He waited to see what Rodney would say, and was filled with pride when he didn’t respond with snark or outrage.

“Not unless they anchor the pack.” He reached for the CB. “Kavanagh? It’s McKay. Can you hear me?”

_Not now, Rodney._

“Listen to me. The pack is too light; the tornado will toss it before it reaches the core. You have to anchor it.”

_Oh, sharing valuable information? That’s a first. I’ll take that under all due consideration._

“You need to listen, you moron!” Rodney shouted. “Don’t be a dick about this! I’m just trying to…”

John snatched the CB out of his hand. “What’s your position, Kavanagh?”

_Sheppard. Still hanging in there? We’re heading northeast running parallel and about to pull ahead on the left, why?_

“Hang back a minute, we’ve got a pretty good view from here. She could shift her track and if she does she’ll come right at you. Do you copy?” 

“He’s not gonna listen,” Rodney grumbled. “Incompetent ass.”

John shared his frustration. They’d never really gotten along well with Kavanagh, but the man had to know they wouldn’t interfere needlessly with his chase.

“Peter, please, listen…”

_Get off this frequency, Sheppard!_

John’s hand tightened on the CB. He pulled off the road, watching the storm spin away ahead and to the right of them. To the side of it, in the distance, he could see Kavanagh’s black SUV. Too close, much too close. And then it got worse.

“She’s shifting,” Rodney said, no emotion in his voice at all.

“Jesus. Kavanagh! I’m telling you…turn around now! Get out of there!”

Even as he was shouting it was too late. The outer wall of the tornado swept up Kavanagh’s SUV and the attached trailer carrying his instrument pack. John’s free hand clenched into a fist and he was unable to look away as Kavanagh and his driver were pulled up into the air. He was too far away to do anything, too far away to see what piece of debris impacted the SUV and knocked it back out of the tornado. The vehicle plummeted to the ground and landed in a ball of flame.

Rodney made a choked sound beside him, but all John could feel was anger. He threw the CB and pounded on the steering wheel. Stupid _fucking_ Kavanagh! Always thought he knew better than anyone else, never able to take suggestions. The world’s biggest asshole, but no-one deserved to die like that.

“Damn it! Stupid!”

“We tried,” Rodney said, sounding oddly calm. “There was no way to stop him.”

John glanced over, ready to lambaste him, but the look on Rodney’s face stopped him short. His cheeks were wet with tears and his lips had practically disappeared, his mouth was so pinched.

“Rodney…”

“There’s nothing we can do, John.”

“The hell there’s not.” Before he could talk himself out of it, John wrapped his hand around the back of Rodney’s neck and pulled him in for a quick, rough press of lips that didn’t really qualify as a kiss.

When he pulled back, heart pounding, Rodney’s eyes were bright for a whole different reason and he licked at his lips. John waited, wondered if he just made a huge mistake. And then Rodney grinned.

“Let’s get this done, John. For Vee. And fucking Kavanagh.”

“For your parents, and Jeannie.”

“For us.”

John put the truck in gear and they were on the road again; it was do or die time, and he had no plans to die.

*o*o*o*

_Rodney, ground speed is increasing. Get ahead of it as fast as you can or she’s gonna bury you!_

John kept his foot on the gas; they were trying to get ahead of the tornado, which was coming up fast behind them on the left. They went flying past a John Deere dealership and he shared an uneasy look with Rodney. His feeling was justified when the storm hit the dealership and started flinging farm equipment at them.

“Debris! We have debris!” Rodney shouted for the benefit of the team.

“Are you fucking _kidding_ me?” John dodged around a combine.

Rodney shouted out directions, which wasn’t particularly helpful. “Right! Left! Right!”

A tire bounced off the already cracked windshield, spider-webbing the entire passenger side. They both ducked, and that wasn’t particularly useful either. Finally giant-sized farm equipment stopped dropping on them and they had a moment to catch their breath.

 _You still with us?_ Ronon asked.

“Barely.”

John saw movement behind some trees up ahead and hit the brake. “What now?”

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Rodney muttered.

It was a two-story house, rolling across the highway like a ball, leaving behind a trail of wood, glass, and household belongings. John and Rodney didn’t have long to watch it continue its journey, not with the tornado bearing down on them.

“We need to get off this road.”

Rodney nodded. “That’s not the worst idea you’ve ever had.”

“Chewie, you guys set up?

_All set here. You going in?_

“We are.” John looked over at Rodney. “You ready?”

“I’m on it.” He squeezed himself through the back window to prep the last Dorothy; it was a close thing because his shoulders were almost too broad to fit through.

John craned his head out the side window, tracking the path of the tornado. It was moving away from the road and there wasn’t a cut-off readily available that he could follow. He was going to have to take the truck off road.

“Get your ass back in here, McKay!” he shouted.

“Dorothy’s ready.”

“Okay. Get in here, it’s about to get bumpy.”

As soon as Rodney wiggled back through the window and into his seat, John whipped the wheel to the right and they lurched off the shoulder, through a shallow ditch, and into a cornfield. Corn stalks slapped against the side of the truck and Rodney braced himself against the dashboard as they bounced along.

 _Speed is still increasing_ , Teyla reported.

_We’ve lost visual. Repeat, lost visual. Where are you guys?_

John let Rodney answer, driving and staying out of the way of the tornado taking all his attention.

“We’re in a cornfield, Lorne. Getting ready to intercept.”

The tornado was in front of them now. John took one last moment to enjoy his formerly shiny new truck; they’d be leaving Dorothy strapped to the back to give it the extra weight it needed.

“You ready?” Rodney asked. He looked determined yet terrified.

“Yeah. Let me just set the cruise control.” He suited words to action and gave the dash a surreptitious pat. “We’re good.”

“On three?”

“On three. Go.”

John pushed open his door and had to strain to keep it that way, against the pressure of the corn stalks; he could hear Rodney grunting with the effort of doing the same on his side. The truck was going fifty, straight towards the tornado.

“Ready?” he asked

“No! But let’s do it anyway.”

John did the count. “One…two…three!”

He jumped, hitting the ground hard and rolling. Stalks smacked into him hard enough to leave bruises, but he immediately regained his feet and looked for Rodney, who was smeared with dirt but had eyes only for the truck.

“Go! Go! Damn you, go!”

When the truck got close enough it went airborne, and the lid released on Dorothy. The upflow winds took the sensors, carrying them far up the funnel.

“Yes!” Rodney cheered. He grabbed John around the waist, dancing him around. “Yes! Yes! We did it!”

_Dorothy’s flying! She’s flying!_

_It’s working!_

_We’re gonna be very popular!_

_We’re already getting readings!_

John laughed out loud. Dorothy had been in the planning stages for such a long time, to see it working, doing exactly what they’d dreamed, was unbelievable. His dream, and Rodney’s, had been realized. It was a heady moment.

_The storm is shifting. Repeat, the storm is shifting. Do you copy?_

_Sheppard, you and McKay need to get out of there!_

John froze, Rodney’s hands still on his waist, and looked at the tornado. Carson was right; it was shifting and that meant they were directly in its path. Corn stalks were starting to rip right out of the ground and the wind was getting too fast too quickly.

“Run!” He grabbed Rodney’s arm and took off, trying to stay between the rows to avoid getting sliced up by the stiff leaves on the stalks. When they cleared the field he was relieved to see a barn; any port in a storm.

“The barn! Head for the barn!” The sound of the storm was like a jet engine and he couldn’t be sure Rodney even heard him. They raced alongside a picket fence, the boards getting plucked out behind them as they went, looking for an opening so they could cross to the barn. Horses outpaced them on the other side and John hoped they found some shelter of their own.

Rodney spotted the hole in the fence first and waved wildly at John, who nodded and followed him through. They ran for the barn and had just reached the corner of it when some of the fence posts slammed into the wall just above their heads. John reached out and pushed Rodney’s head down, ducking himself. It took both of them to get the small side door open, fighting the wind, and then they were inside.

John could hear some ominous clanking above the noise of the storm and looked up. Hanging from the rafters were all manner of very sharp, very pointy farm implements. He didn’t recognize all of them, but made out a sickle, knives, saws, and post hole diggers. Rodney followed his gaze.

“Who the hell _are_ these people?”

“We can’t stay here.” It wasn’t just the pointy death waiting to drop down on them at any minute; John could hear the storm and it was almost right on top of them. He pushed Rodney out a door on the other side of the barn, the hair on the back of his neck rising. They ran back outside, and it was some sixth sense that made John shoot a glance over his shoulder in time to see part of the metal roof heading their way.

“Fuck!” He tackled Rodney and they both hit the dirt just time to avoid being sliced in half.

“This sucks!” Rodney shouted in his ear. John nodded his agreement, dragging him back to his feet.

They ran alongside a sunflower field, and John had to squint against all the dirt flying through the air. This time it was Rodney who took him down and he had a vague impression of red barn wall cutting through the air. He was so tired of having things flung at him today!

There was a pump house up ahead, at the crest of a small hill, and he almost went past it; then he thought about the pipes and how deep they ran. The farmhouse was too far away and this was the only thing between them and the tornado. He grabbed Rodney’s hand and pulled him along.

“Here! Get in!”

Again, they had to fight with the door to get it open. There was a large, pipe coming out of the concrete floor, shaped like an inverted ‘u’; it was sunk at least thirty feet into the concrete and dirt.

“If we anchor to this we might have a chance!”

They took opposite sides of the small room, searching. Rodney hooted, and held up several lengths of nylon rope he’d pulled out of a metal box in one corner.

“That’s perfect!” John took one of the lengths from him and looped it around the pipe. He tied it around Rodney’s waist, wishing it was longer so it could go over his shoulders too for added safety.

The pump house started to shake, the groaning of the boards almost lost over the animalistic roar of the tornado. John tried to tie up his own rope but his fingers were fumbling and he couldn’t get the knot right. The first of the wall boards started to pull away and time was up. He looked at Rodney, putting his apology in his eyes. 

“No!” He couldn’t hear the actual word but he could read it well enough on Rodney’s angry face. He snatched the rope out of John’s hand and threw it over his shoulder. He let Rodney push him to the floor, straddling the pipe. Rodney sat behind him, wrapping his body around him like a shield.

“Hang on!” he shouted in John’s ear.

John closed his eyes and wrapped his arms around the pipe, which shook with the force of the wind. The roof was ripped off – he could tell by the change in pressure – and the walls around them disintegrated as more and more boards were caught in the updraft. He could feel Rodney’s chest vibrating, couldn’t tell if he was talking or screaming.

The updrafts caught at them too, tugging on their clothes and pulling at their bodies. At one point he could actually feel Rodney lifting up and away from him and he knew a moment of absolute terror that the man would get sucked away in the storm. But he underestimated Rodney, who reached around John to get his own hold on the pipe; they were pressed so tightly together that John fancied he could feel Rodney’s heart beat. He focused on that, ignoring everything else, and it was a few minutes before he realized that the storm was over.

He blinked his eyes open, saw that the entire pump house was destroyed, just the pipe and the square of concrete floor left. The sky was already clearing, sun filtering through the lightening clouds. The tornado must’ve shifted again or they would’ve been dead.

“Rodney. Hey. _Rodney_.” John tried to nudge him back, but he was still tightly wound around him.

He pried Rodney’s hands off the pipe. “Hey, buddy. It’s okay. It’s over. It’s all over.”

Finally Rodney stirred, but instead of moving away he put his arms around John’s waist and rested his forehead between John’s shoulder blades.

“Is it a bad pun to say that sucked?”

John snorted, and put his hands over Rodney’s. “I’m willing to let it slide. Any chance I can stop hugging this pipe?”

They began the process of untangling, from each other and Rodney from the rope. Rodney was looking a little worse for wear – he must’ve gotten hit with some of the debris, judging by the stiffness in his movements and the weeping gash on his temple. John turned away, afraid of what might be showing on his face, and stretched, working out the last of the tension from his shoulders. 

“Check it out. It didn’t take the house.”

“It didn’t take you,” Rodney said solemnly. “That’s all that matters.”

If John ever did the swooning girl thing, he’d have done it right then. He turned to look at Rodney, and was filled with so many things he wanted to say. He wanted to tell Rodney that this was it, that Rodney had saved him again just as he’d saved him all those years ago when his life was going down the crapper. He wanted to tell him that he was sorry for leaving, that he’d been wrong, and that the first thing he was going to do when he got back home was to find a way out of his contract.

In the end there were too many words and so he didn’t say anything, just tugged Rodney close and kissed him, kissed him the way he’d been dreaming of for over a year. Rodney’s lips were chapped, they both stank of sweat and fear, their skin was gritty with dirt, and it was still the best kiss John ever had. He wouldn’t have minded it going on forever, but suddenly Rodney was pulling away, his eyes wide and fingers snapping.

“We have so much to do!”

“I was thinking we’d do more of that.” John ran his hand down Rodney’s arm and clasped their hands together. “I didn’t mind that.”

“I’ve got to get grant approvals for a new warning system, we need a bigger lab, I’ll have press junkets, you’ve got to do an analysis of all that data…”

Rodney and his one track mind. John grinned, even as he responded as he was meant to. “I have to do analysis?”

“Well, of course! You’ve got to generate models out of all this data and I need to run the lab…”

“Oh, no! You’re the science guy, you do the analysis. I’m the one that should do the press junkets – I’ve got the good looks. In fact, I’ll bet the Discovery Channel decides to base a new reality show on me.”

Rodney laughed, and tightened his fingers around John’s. “With that hair? You’ll make us a laughing stock. Leave the pretty-boy acting to Reed.”

John wondered if he should be worried that Rodney thought Reed, a chaser of their acquaintance who was a favorite of the Discovery Channel, was attractive. “You love my hair.”

Dr. Rodney McKay, double PhD and well known severe storms genius, actually blushed, and cut short any further comments by pulling John in for another kiss. This one lasted until the rest of the team arrived, giddy with excitement.

“You got it, guys! The sensors worked!” Laura gave John a high five.

Carson nodded. “The computers went crazy, we’ve got data coming out of our ears!”

“It was the biggest tornado ever recorded, or so says NSSL.” Teyla smiled, but she gave the both of them a shrewd look. “It is definitely a day for amazing things to happen.”

Ronon bumped John with his shoulder. “You gonna stick around, Sheppard?”

Everyone looked at him expectantly, except for Rodney who was looking down at his feet. They’d dropped hands when the rest of the team had arrived, but John reached for him, their fingers automatically twining together.

“You know what they say.” He waited for Rodney to look at him again. “There’s no place like home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **AN:** So, I have no idea where this came from. But it seemed like a good fit, especially for me. I’m a longtime fan of tornadoes – probably because I don’t live anywhere near Tornado Alley and have never seen an actual twister – and Twister is one of my favorite movies. It was fun dropping the SGA characters in and seeing how they did.
> 
> I used the actual movie and a transcript of the movie to help while I wrote this. Some of the dialogue is straight from the film, but I tried to keep as close to the characters as much as possible when they were speaking. I also name-dropped some real storm chasers, because I also watched all three seasons of Storm Chasers on the Discovery Channel while I was writing this. LOL! Talk about immersion!
> 
> One of the things I also tried to do was put a bit more reality into the situations from the movie. I mean, overall the whole thing was fantastical but there were elements that always bugged me and I tried to fix some of those. I kept the happy ending, though, and gave a final shout-out to Wizard of Oz and the first tornado I ever saw on screen.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it!


	3. Beginning in the End

John stands out on the observation deck, watching fiery death rain down from the sky. It’s beautiful, in its way, though that may have something to do with the fact that it’s still distant from his location. It _is_ coming, though, inexorably drawing closer. Rodney has assured him the shield will hold for a while, and he can’t decide if that’s a good thing or not. Strange, to see death coming and not be able to do anything but stand there and watch it advance.

_Damn it!_

He hears Rodney clearly through the earpiece; he insists on keeping the line open, just in case. The Chief Science Officer is busting his ass down on level two, trying like always to find a last-minute miracle. John is pretty sure they’ve used them all up; even a cat with nine lives has to die sometime. He just never expected to go out like this, in such an un-heroic fashion. There’s no fight to the death or brave sacrifice to be made, just an astrological event that doesn’t care how far away from Atlantis they are, or that they only meant to be on PRM-288 for a few hours.

_Think! Think! There has to be something…_

“McKay.”

_Not now, Colonel. Busy saving our lives._

He’s not, though, John can hear it in his voice. Rodney’s trying to put up a brave front, but it’s not like all the other times he’s been able to pull their fat from the fire. He’s been working non-stop for the last two hours, but there’s no save this time. The Daedalus is too far away and even if Atlantis finds a Stargate nearby the atmosphere here is too unstable for a ‘jumper extraction.

“McKay, get your ass up here.”

_Colonel, I don’t think…_

“Please.” John doesn’t ask, not often. It took him a while to become accustomed to having his orders obeyed; it was never a responsibility he wanted, becoming the military head of the Atlantis expedition, but he wasn’t one to shirk his duty, and that was the price he had to pay for getting to stay in the City. And though Rodney most often balks at being told what to do, he knows John well enough to appreciate what that one _please_ means.

_On my way._

Another sign of how bad things are is Rodney’s easy acquiescence. He’s a stubborn man, an argumentative man – even in dire situations he’s not a malleable personality. It’s something John has always admired about him, even when Rodney manifests his steadfastness at the wrong time, with the wrong people. He’s had a lifetime of being his own supporter and he’s had to learn to stand up for himself because no-one else was ever willing to. John may not be a scientist, but he can observe and extrapolate and come up with hypotheses with the best of them and he thinks he has Rodney pretty well figured out by now.

“What’s so important?” He’s talking as soon as he comes out of the stairwell, tablet clutched tightly in his hand. “We don’t have time for idle chit-chat, Colonel.”

He’s aiming for angry and supercilious, but John sees the way his eyes track the nearing storm of meteors; he’s clearly terrified, though he’ll refuse to admit it. There are moments when courage is a subtle, quiet thing; this is a fine example of that, and not the first time the genius has shown himself this way.

Sometimes Rodney breaks his heart.

“There’s nothing you can do, McKay.”

“You don’t know that!” he replies, lifting his chin defiantly. John can see that it’s ninety-eight percent bluster. “There has to be _something_ …”

“Unless there’s a ship hidden somewhere in here, there’s nothing. _Nothing_.” He wishes he’d sent Rodney on the ‘jumper with Teyla and Ronon, though there’d been no reason to. Just a routine check-in that turned into a harrowing escape through the Gate. The Gate which had been blasted into several small pieces by a particularly large piece of space rock, and they’d been incredibly lucky that the whole thing hadn’t exploded and taken them all out in the naquadah equivalent of a mushroom cloud; or maybe it would’ve been better than standing here and waiting to die.

Rodney clutches his tablet tightly to his chest, shaking his head in negation. “There’s _always_ something. I’ll find it, I swear I will, I just need more time!”

John doesn’t want to take away whatever shreds of hope that Rodney’s still clinging to, but he also doesn’t want the man to spend his last hour or so tied to an Ancient console looking futilely for a last minute save. And he can admit the selfishness of wanting his last moments to mean something, to expunge at least one regret from a long list.

“Stay with me.” He wishes that comes out stronger, less pleading. He has to clench his fists to keep from reaching out, to keep from touching. He’s been denying himself that for so long now that it’s almost second nature; he’s a master of self-denial.

Rodney stills, no longer twitching or shifting or nervously flexing his fingers. Instead, he studies John with an intensity usually reserved for ZPMs or new pieces of Ancient tech. Being the focus of that regard is uncomfortable, as if Rodney can see inside his head and pull out everything he’s been hiding for the last three years. _This is what you wanted_ , he reminds himself.

“What are you doing?” Rodney asks, voice heavily laden with suspicion and mistrust. “What is this? You’re not usually the defeatist in this partnership. You’re the brave one, the…the…what are you _doing_?”

“I’m not doing anything,” John says defensively. “But in case you haven’t noticed, we’re running out of time here.”

“Oh, well, thank goodness you pointed _that_ out; I never would’ve realized how _serious_ the situation was.” The snark would be more effective without the wavering thread of fear running through it.

Unwilling to wait any longer John reaches out, the way he’s imagined so many times, and wraps his hand around the back of Rodney’s neck. He pulls, gently, drawing him closer. His friend’s eyes are wide, his mouth working as if he wants to say something but just can’t find the words.

John strokes his thumb along the side of Rodney’s neck, the skin there soft and slightly damp. He reels him in until there’s just a thin pocket of air between them, and slides his other hand around Rodney’s hip to the small of his back.

“Colonel?”

“John,” he corrects softly. “Just John.”

He bends his head, just a fraction, and presses his lips to Rodney’s. It’s everything he thought it would be, and he’s thought about it a lot – soft, warm, dry lips, slightly chapped. John’s eyes are just drifting shut when Rodney gets his hands up between them, gripping the tablet tightly, and shoves hard, pushing John away.

“What the _hell_ is the matter with you?” His blue eyes are snapping with anger and something like dismay. “Are you out of your tiny little _mind_?”

John scowls, already feeling the loss of Rodney’s body heat, but makes no move towards him.

“So this is it, then? We’re gonna die, so _now_ you can finally make your move? You are _so_ fucked up! It would take me _days_ to compile a comprehensive list of the ways you’re fucked up!”

“Rodney…”

“No, don’t you _Rodney/ _me! Do you know how long… _fuck_! This is _not_ fucking okay, _Colonel_.”__

__John winces at the venom in Rodney’s voice, but more so at the anguish that wars with anger on his face. This isn’t how things are supposed to go. Rodney is supposed to fall into his embrace, realizing that this is their last chance to be together. He knows he hasn’t misread Rodney’s signals, hasn’t mistaken his interest._ _

__“Rodney,” he tries again. He takes a step forward but Rodney is already scuttling back until he hits the door to the stairwell._ _

__“No. _No_! This is _just_ like you! You selfish, arrogant…unbelievable…” And then he’s gone, through the door and presumably back down to level two to continue his futile efforts at saving their lives._ _

__John’s jaw is clenched so tightly he wouldn’t be surprised if he was doing irreparable damage to his teeth. He turns away, looking back out at the coming storm. Everything’s on fire out there, from the blazing rocks and from the atmosphere that Rodney said is getting superheated; if not for the protection of the shield there’s every chance they’d burst into flames before they ran the risk of getting hit with debris._ _

__He doesn’t understand Rodney’s outburst, though he feels somehow guilty about it. He’s pretty sure it’s common practice, at times like these, to seek comfort and that’s all he wants. Although it belatedly occurs to him that maybe not everyone would see it that way. John has waited so long, _wanted_ so long, that maybe it would be more torture than comfort to finally have what he’s been denying himself, knowing there wouldn’t time for it to grow into anything meaningful._ _

__A snuffling sound through the earpiece catches his attention, and something twists in his chest when he hears it again. Is Rodney _crying_? Without even thinking about it John crosses the room and pushes open the door, intent on finding him; he doesn’t have far to go. His Chief Science Officer is sitting at the top of the stairwell, curled in on himself, forehead pressed to his knees as his shoulders hitch._ _

__John sits beside him, careful this time not to touch. “Rodney?”_ _

__Rodney presses himself closer to the railing, hugs his legs tighter. As body language goes it’s pretty decisive, but John is all too aware of the clock that’s ticking down for them and he’s not going to let things end this way._ _

__“I’m sorry, okay?” He looks at his hands, resting on his thighs, and hates the impotence of them. With the proper tools those hands have saved their lives countless times, but there’s nothing for them to do here; no gun to wield, no flight controls to maneuver, no DHD to dial them home._ _

__Rodney turns his head a little, so that John can see one bleary, blood-shot blue eye. “I really hate you,” he says._ _

__“I know.”_ _

__“Is this one of those last man on Earth scenarios? Cause I gotta tell you that’s not at all flattering.”_ _

__John struggles to keep the grin off his face. This is the Rodney he wants, has always wanted – able to joke no matter what the situation, never afraid to say what was on his mind._ _

__“That’s not why.”_ _

__Rodney sits up, scrubbing at his face with his hands for a long moment. His voice is still a bit tremulous, his whole demeanor unsure, but he presses forward. “So, what then? You’ve secretly been lusting after me and thought this would be a good time to get some?”_ _

__“Yes. And no.” John sighs. He’s not good at this, has never liked talking about himself or his feelings. Mostly he tries to ignore the fact he even _has_ feelings. But Rodney is waiting for more and he’ll give it to him, because holding out now is pointless._ _

__“You need to tell me, Sheppard,” Rodney prompts. He’s progressed to last names, which John will take as a positive sign._ _

__“Kissing you is…something I’ve wanted for a long time. Forever, it seems like.” He can feel his face flushing with the admission, but there’s relief in the telling of it._ _

__“Why didn’t you…wait. Let me guess. Regulations? Idiotic rules that didn’t even work well on Earth, much less a multi-national scientific expedition to a whole other galaxy?” Rodney is getting worked up again, and this is familiar, a rant that John has heard many times over the years. One he always secretly agreed with._ _

__“That,” he agrees with a shrug. “And me. I fuck things up. You were too important to risk.”_ _

__He hazards a look, sees that Rodney’s whole expression has softened. He found the right words, and maybe there’s still a chance that their last hour or so on this rock won’t be spent on recriminations and self-flagellation._ _

__“I wish you’d trusted me with this.” Rodney scoots a little closer to John, until they’re pressed together, Rodney’s right side to John’s left. “Pretty dramatic moment to let me know. I always thought you were a diva – how could you not be with that hair – and this just confirms my hypothesis.”_ _

__John doesn’t even bother making a token protest, just slings an arm around Rodney’s shoulders and hugs him close. He feels like a weight has been lifted, and realizes he’s spent years slowly suffocating under the pressure of keeping his secrets. How would it have changed things if he’d told Rodney months ago? Years ago? Would they still be here, the world blazing fire around them?_ _

__Rodney derails his train of thought by cupping his face in one broad hand, thumb stroking along his cheekbone. “John,” he breathes, and John has only a very brief moment to enjoy the sound of his own name slipping out of Rodney’s mouth before he’s being kissed._ _

__It’s nothing like he’d anticipated. Rodney takes it slow, as if he’s savoring every taste, every texture. Firm pressure of lips, slick glide of tongues, all braced by that hand on his face. John reaches over, fists one hand in Rodney’s damp t-shirt, and hangs on as every nerve ending sparks to life even as he starts to feel oddly boneless._ _

__When Rodney pulls away John blindly follows, getting another, much briefer kiss. They’ve turned towards each other by this point, knees bumping, and Rodney rests his head on John’s shoulder, his warm breath puffing on John’s neck._ _

__“I don’t want to die,” he says._ _

__John wraps both arms around him, as tightly as he can despite the somewhat awkward angle. “I don’t either.”_ _

__“You have more practice at it,” Rodney points out, but there’s no humor in his tone. “I wish I could get us home.”_ _

__“Me too, buddy. But not every situation has a fix. We’ve been pretty lucky till now, if you think about it.”_ _

__“Till now,” Rodney agrees, and then his voice drops down to a mere whisper that John has to strain to hear. “I’d really like to have sex with you.”_ _

__John feels unexpectedly overwhelmed with affection and has to blink the tears out of his eyes as he presses his cheek to the top of Rodney’s head. He thinks maybe it wouldn’t be so bad, just having this – his best friend held tight in his arms as the sky falls on their heads. But once the sentiment has been voiced there’s only one direction to go and that’s forward; he won’t miss one more opportunity._ _

__“Come on,” he says. He gets to his feet and pulls Rodney up with him, stealing another kiss. Rodney’s a solid, warm weight against him, and he’s exceptionally skilled at kissing. How is it that Katie and Jennifer let him get away? John would’ve held him tight, if he’d had the chance to do so. Like he’s doing now._ _

__John takes Rodney’s hand, twists their fingers together, and leads him back to the observation deck. The sky on the other side of the shield is orange and smudged with smoke from the fires. The deadly shower of meteors is closer and he wishes he could protect Rodney from it; he can’t, though, and so they’ll face it together._ _

__“Oh…” Rodney says, eyes wide as he takes in the view. For a long moment there is absolute terror on his face, so much so that it sends ice down John’s spine in sympathetic response, and then he simply closes his eyes and lets it all drain away. John is absolutely blown away, and simultaneously filled with pride, at this display of courage. He pulls Rodney close again, gives him a reason to have his eyes closed; gives them both something else to focus on._ _

__John drinks Rodney in, like he’s all that’s keeping John alive. Which may actually be true, but he doesn’t have the brain power left to think about it. The kiss is long and deep and slow, setting something burning low in John’s belly. His hands move restlessly, learning Rodney by touch even as he peels him out of his clothes. He takes his time with this too, as if doing so is a way to tell the universe’s doomsday clock to fuck off. They only have this one moment, this one chance, and he won’t waste it._ _

__When Rodney is completely stripped John takes a few steps back; he wants to _see_. Rodney shifts a bit, his skin flushed with embarrassment, but he lets John look his fill. Broad shoulders, the skin pale and freckled. A soft stomach lightly covered in brown hair. Surprisingly muscular thighs, perhaps from all the squatting in front of DHDs and Ancient consoles. Rodney is only partially hard but John’s not worried about that; he imagines that will change soon enough. _ _

__“I’m not…you’re in better shape.” It comes out like an apology and John frowns._ _

__“This isn’t a contest, Rodney. I think you look…beautiful.” It sounds stupid and girly when he says it, but that doesn’t make it any less true. Rodney flushes a deeper red. The orange light coming through the shield gives his whole body a warm, ethereal glow._ _

__John takes off his own clothes, methodical and teasing, and watches with interest as Rodney gets harder just watching him reveal himself. He has a pretty good idea of what he looks like, knows that he has a slim-hipped runner’s build, his leg muscles clearly defined. There’s no six-pack abs, but he has good definition. His own dick is painfully hard, curving up to his stomach._ _

__Rodney sucks in a breath, one hand twitching toward his groin, as if to touch himself. John moves toward him; he’s seen enough and now he needs to touch, needs to _be_ touched. He pulls Rodney back into a kiss, reveling now in the feel of skin against skin. He thought he couldn’t get any harder but he’s wrong; when his erection brushes against Rodney’s he has to bite back a moan of pleasure-pain._ _

__“John…” Rodney breathes brokenly, panting against his cheek._ _

__“I know.” John runs one hand up and down the other man’s back. “Have you…do you…?”_ _

__“Yeah.” A wet kiss is pressed to the side of his neck. “Don’t worry, Sheppard. I can keep up.”_ _

__John laughs and wraps himself around Rodney, hugging him tightly. “I love you,” he says with a smile in his voice._ _

__Rodney clutches at him and John can feel tears on his shoulder. John just holds him, gives him some time to pull himself together. When he does he steps back and cups John’s face in his hands._ _

__“You mean more to me than the Nobel.”_ _

__It’s silly, but John feels the warmth of that statement seep into him. He knows Rodney doesn’t always have the right words, though he’s rarely at a complete loss for them, and he knows him well enough to read the truth behind what he’s said._ _

__The mood abruptly changes when Rodney sinks to his knees, one arm reaching out to drag over some of the discarded clothes to use as a cushion against the hard floor. Without any sort of preamble or warning, he wraps his lips around John’s dick and swallows him almost to the root. John locks his knees and closes his eyes as electrical shocks pulse from his groin outward to the rest of his body._ _

__Rodney takes him too deep and gags, pulling back, but when he recovers he does something dirty with his tongue that makes John wish he had something to brace himself on; he realizes a moment later that he does and clutches at Rodney’s shoulders. The resultant hum of approval on his sensitive skin nearly undoes him. As if sensing that, Rodney pulls back, tongue tracing the spaces left behind by his lips._ _

__“Will you fuck me?” he asks, all shyness gone. John looks down at him, his mouth red and wanton, and nods. He thinks he could almost come from the thought alone – being inside Rodney, surrounded by him. The ultimate intimacy._ _

__Rodney begins rooting through the clothes, making John wonder if he’s looking for a condom. And why would he even carry one? They’d been involved in some pretty bizarre off-world rituals, but thus far none of them had included gratuitous sex._ _

__A sizzling noise has them both looking up at the same time, and John’s heart starts racing. The meteor shower is upon them and their time is almost up. The shield will hold for a little while, but the combined heat and force will weaken it. It ripples with each impact and the effect is startlingly beautiful. John is reminded of Atlantis’ shield during the siege and feels an unexpected surge of home sickness_ _

__“Hey. Eyes on me, flyboy.” Rodney snaps his fingers and John jerks, startled. The other man is on his hands and knees, legs spread in offering and ass raised. John’s mouth immediately goes dry but he’s quick to change his focus; he always did have a knack for prioritizing._ _

__He kneels down behind Rodney, running a hand down his back and over one ass cheek, squeezing it firmly before reaching under to fondle his balls and give his dick a quick stroke or two. Rodney shudders, dropping his head, but he reaches over his own shoulder and drops something on his back._ _

__“Why do you have lube?” John asks, honestly curious. He picks up the two little packages of surgical lube and stares at them._ _

__“Comes in handy for greasing up mechanisms sometimes,” is the muffled reply. “Also, very good for anal sex. If that’s something you wanted to get on with before we die a horrible death.”_ _

__In response John leans over Rodney’s back and bites him on the shoulder, hard enough to leave teeth marks. Rodney hisses in a breath but doesn’t pull away, instead pushing back and up into John’s erection. As a motivator it’s a pretty good one. John rips open the first package of lube and liberally coats his fingers with it._ _

__“ _Please_ , John,” Rodney begs._ _

__John circles Rodney’s opening with one finger before breaching the small ring of muscle. There’s a brief moment of tension and then Rodney melts into the touch. It doesn’t take long to add a second finger, opening him up, readying him. John keeps one hand on Rodney’s hip, thumb stroking little circles in the soft skin. He wishes they had more time, wishes he could get to know every inch of this man, learn every hot spot. Are his nipples sensitive? Does he like having his earlobes suckled? John has the sudden urge to lay him down and taste the crease of his leg, but there isn’t time._ _

__The noise from the volley overhead has increased, but he can still hear Rodney’s moans and muttered imprecations as he moves his body restlessly. John uses the second package of lube on his dick and finds there’s time enough after all, as he enters Rodney bit by bit, a slow invasion that feels so good he wonders if he’ll even get one good stroke in before it’s all over._ _

__“Yes, yes, please, _yes_ ,” Rodney groans. He thrusts backward and just like that John is fully seated within him. It’s perfect – hot and tight and _Rodney_ , all around him just as he’s always been._ _

__Marshalling all of his self control, John begins moving. Long, even strokes that he feels all the way up his spine. Rodney bends even more than he was, letting John in deeper, and from his reaction his prostate is getting plenty of attention. John doesn’t usually make a lot of noise when he has sex – he’s always felt self-conscious about it – but there’s nothing holding him back now. He’s grunting and moaning, the sounds falling from his mouth mostly formless but occasionally a word or two sneaks through. Mostly _fuck_ and _God_ and _Rodney_._ _

__All too soon John is losing control, his thrusts becoming jerky and fast. His orgasm is building and he’s a little afraid of how big it feels. This is Rodney, this is what he’s been dreaming of for so long, and the orgasm hits him like a warhead, pulling everything out of him and lighting it up for the whole universe to see. With the tiny bit of coherent thought that remains he reaches around and wraps his hand around Rodney’s dick, and that’s all it takes for the other man to arch beneath him and clench around him, and John thinks it’s possible this orgasm will kill him before the meteors get a chance._ _

__He pulls out, pulls back and collapses gracelessly on the floor beside Rodney, who has simply let his knees slide back so he’s lying on his stomach. John hooks a leg over Rodney’s, needing to maintain contact even as he struggles to catch his breath. He watches the show above him, noticing how the whole shield is glowing orange now. He’s pretty sure that’s not a good thing._ _

__“Thank you,” Rodney says, turning his head so he can look at John._ _

__John keeps his eyes on the shield. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. I’m sorry it took this.”_ _

__“I’m sorry too. I could’ve said something, I just wasn’t sure. You come off really heterosexual, you know. Pretty sure it’s not just that I have crappy gaydar.”_ _

__“I got too used to hiding it, I guess. Didn’t you notice you were getting more action than me?” John can look at him now, and the relaxed, well-fucked expression on Rodney’s face makes him want to do it all over again._ _

__“No. Maybe because I wasn’t getting the action I wanted. That would be you, by the way.” Rodney reaches over and lays his hand over John’s heart. “You’re the best friend I ever had, John. I always wondered if we’d be able to make it work, an actual relationship. I think we could’ve.”_ _

__John turns on his side and leans in to kiss Rodney, one hand tight at the back of his neck. “I _know_ we could’ve. You’re the only one that ever made me believe that.”_ _

__Rodney gives him a dopey, affection-laden grin, and then the shield begins to fail. There’s an explosion of rock as a meteor comes through and hits the floor not six feet away, sending burning shrapnel in all directions._ _

__“Fuck!” Rodney scrambles to his feet, frantically brushing at a flaming shard of rock that’s burning into his forearm._ _

__John is on his feet in a flash, abandoning their clothes and dragging Rodney towards the door to the stairwell. Maybe in movies it’s heroic to stand tall and face your death, but it turns out his survival instinct is alive and well; he isn’t going down without a fight. Maybe if they can get low enough, deep enough underground…_ _

__Rodney screams and jerks out of his grasp, stumbling to the ground. A fist-sized chunk of rock has hit him in the shoulder, leaving a bloody, charred mess in its wake._ _

__“ _Rodney_!”_ _

__The shield flickers and dies, leaving them out in the open and completely unprotected. The air is shimmering with heat, burning John’s lungs as he gasps in a breath. He can feel his skin starting to burn, sees that Rodney’s is quickly reddening. The door. They have to get to the door. Everything will be okay if they get to the door._ _

__“Come _on_ , McKay! Move!” John hauls him to his feet, wincing as more shrapnel strikes him, little points all over his body burning. Rodney moves like a broken doll, his steps jerky and uncoordinated, his eyes glazed in shock._ _

__“Stay with me, buddy. Stay with me.”_ _

__They’re less than two feet from the door when a large meteor hits the center of the observation deck. The floor warps under their feet, sending them flying. John hits his head – _hard_ – as he goes down, and everything becomes a bit muted and fuzzy. He sees fire, and it takes a long, long moment to realize that the fire is Rodney, he’s actually _on_ fire, but John can’t get to him because there’s a heavy weight on his leg pinning him to the floor. He can’t feel anything, can’t hear anything, and when the world ends it goes up in a flash of bright, white light._ _

____

*o*o*o*

John stands naked in a swirling, endless white mist. There’s nothing in front of him, nothing behind, nothing on either side. He has a sense of vast space, but the mist surrounds him like a wall and it’s almost suffocating. He looks down at his arms but his skin is a healthy pink; no sign of the burns.

“Rodney?” he calls, but there’s no answer. The mist eats his voice, muffles it. He wonders if they died. It seems likely. He can remember the burning rock, Rodney on fire. His gut clenches painfully. They must’ve died and this is…purgatory? Is he finally going to be made to pay for his sins? Maybe it’s good that Rodney isn’t here, because it means he had nothing to atone for. Maybe Rodney is at peace.

 _John_. His name echoes weirdly through the mist, sounding as if it’s coming from everywhere and nowhere all at once. He spins around, stirring up the mist, but there’s nothing to see. He doesn’t like this, but it’s better than burning alive, better than watching Rodney die in front of him. If he has to do his time here he will. Without complaint.

“You aren’t dead.” A woman appears like a phantom, the bottom of her long white dress lost in the swirling mist.

“Chaya?” She’s the last person he expected to see. “Did you…have I _ascended_?”

The thought makes him sick and angry. Did she pull him out of his fiery death, only to leave Rodney behind to die alone? All because of some connection she felt they once had?

“I saved you.”

“And Rodney? Did you save him too?” John’s hands clench into fists as he takes a step towards her. Chaya’s brow wrinkles as she makes a face.

“Dr. McKay? You don’t need him, John. You don’t need anything now. You can live forever, unfettered by human concerns.”

“That was _not_ my choice!” he shouts, wishing it didn’t come out sounding so muffled, sapped of strength. “Send me back.”

“There’s nothing to return to, John. Think of all you can learn if you stay here, with me. With the others.”

He has a sense of them now, their presence hidden from sight. The Ancients, who wasted their lives looking to escape, to ascend, to run away from the burdens they created. He hates them with surprising ferocity, and maybe Chaya can sense it because she moves back.

“John, there’s no need…”

“Send. Me. Back. _Now_!”

“I saved you from a painful death!”

“I’m not going to ask again,” John growls. “You left Rodney there to die alone and that’s not acceptable. He’s mine, and we need to be together.”

“Even if you both die needlessly?”

“Yes.”

Chaya gives him a long look, clearly disappointed. She shakes her head. “As you wish it.”

The mist flares up white, there is a great howling around him, inside him, and then he knows no more.

*o*o*o*

John returns to consciousness slowly. There’s something wrong, though he can’t quite put his finger on it. He hears an incessant beeping, feels crisp sheets under his hands. He’s in a bed. In an infirmary. Familiar sounds that he’s heard many, many times. And then he remembers fire and death and snaps awake, sitting up in the bed and gasping.

He looks around but he’s the only one in the room. It’s not Atlantis, but he thinks it might be the infirmary on the Daedalus. The other beds are empty, awaiting patients. He feels his chest constrict and has to fight to breathe. Chaya saved him, sent him back to his people. And left Rodney on PRM-288.

“Colonel Sheppard! Easy, now.” Someone is there, a woman, and she’s pushing him back on the bed. 

“How…where…”

“You’re on the Daedalus, Sir.”

He fights her, trying to lever himself up and off the bed. He has to talk to Colonel Caldwell, get him to go back for Rodney. Even…even if there’s nothing much left, he has to bring him home.

“Sir, calm down.” The heart monitor is beeping like crazy.

“No, I need to go. We need to go. I can’t leave him there. Rodney…”

“Is right here, so settle down.”

John goggles at him. Rodney stands in the doorway, dressed in scrubs and not looking at all singed or burnt or dead. They stare at each other for a long moment, and then Rodney is waving the doctor away. 

“Yes, he’s fine now. I’ll make sure he stays in bed. Go. Write a report or something.”

She glowers at him but leaves them alone. John sits up but makes no further attempt to get out of bed. He doesn’t take his eyes off Rodney as the other man makes his way across the room and sits on the end of the bed.

“She saved you,” John murmurs. 

“I can only assume you mean your glow-y Ancient girlfriend,” Rodney says sourly. “Why doesn’t that surprise me? Although I suppose I should be glad she thought to save both of us, since she only has eyes for you.”

“You were on fire.” John can see it so clearly in his mind, hear Rodney’s screams. He shudders, and then Rodney is all up in his personal space, pulling him into a hug and rubbing circles on his back.

“It’s okay. _I’m_ okay. Get a grip on yourself, Sheppard.” The words lack a snarky edge, instead suffused with warmth. “For once I’m not going to complain about your choice in girlfriends.”

John opens his mouth to protest before deciding that actions speak louder than words and seeks out Rodney’s mouth. There’s some nose bumping before he gets it right, sinking into the kiss with a sigh. Rodney’s hands move up into John’s hair and he feels himself go boneless at the touch.

Someone clears their throat and Rodney practically levitates off the bed, standing nervously nearby wringing his hands. Colonel Caldwell watches them, one eyebrow raised and his arms crossed in front of his chest.

“I see you’re feeling better, Colonel Sheppard.”

Rodney goes into instant babble mode. “Colonel, this isn’t what it looks like. Not that it looks like anything. Colonel Sheppard was merely feeling overwhelmed…not that he’s emotionally unstable or anything…he’s fine. Please don’t discharge him.”

John can’t help but grin. He reaches for Rodney’s hand, ignoring the startled look he gets in return. “Colonel Caldwell.”

“I’ve notified Atlantis that both of you are safe. You’ll be guests of the Daedalus for the next thirty-six hours or so. Shall I…make a room available?”

“Yes. Thank you, Sir. Do you need a report?”

“That’s quite all right, Sheppard. You can save that for Dr. Weir. Dr. McKay.” Caldwell nods and walks back out.

“What are you doing?” Rodney hisses. “Are you trying to get court-martialed?”

“We almost died,” John replies, pulling Rodney closer. “Let’s just say I’m reordering my priorities.”

“It wasn’t just an end-of-the-world thing?” Rodney asks hopefully.

“Nope.”

“We really going to share a room here, surrounded by military personnel?”

“Yup.”

“I need a drink,” Rodney sighs.

“How about a kiss?” John offers instead.

Rodney takes him up on that, and John has never felt so free, so centered, as he does at this moment. Maybe it took a fiery armageddon to get here, but he isn’t going to waste one more moment of whatever time they have left. He doesn’t care about rules, regulations or what anyone else thinks. 

“I love you, too,” Rodney whispers in his ear.

Things between them are just beginning and John knows he’s made the right choice. His relationship with Rodney was literally forged in fire, but it already had a solid base of respect and friendship to build upon. Whatever happens from here on in they’ll face it together.

“I have a feeling my life is about to get really interesting,” he says with a grin.

Rodney grins right back at him. “Oh, I’ll make sure of that. I’m a genius, after all.”

“You sure are,” John agrees. He pulls his teammate, friend, lover in for another kiss, knowing he’ll never get tired of it. And in this moment, that’s more than enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **AN:** So this fic started with the image of John and Rodney having sex under a bombarded shield. I added some plot to it, because I always like a little plot with my smut. Hubby thought I should kill them off with the meteors, but of course I couldn’t. Chaya has to be good for something, right? LOL! Hope you enjoyed this!


	4. Sight Unseen - Part One

John sat on the steps of the front porch of his newly rented cottage. He hadn’t been to Cannon Beach since he was a kid and it was every bit as cool as he remembered. He’d gotten lucky, finding this property; it was isolated on three sides by tall pine trees and fronted the beach, with an excellent view of Haystack Rock. Hopefully the soothing sound of the waves lapping at the shore would help him sleep through the night; he really wanted to stop taking the sleeping pills.

The cottage was bigger than he needed, two bedrooms plus a nicely outfitted study. The whole thing had come furnished, which was good since he hadn’t had much to bring with him; just a duffle bag, an old trunk and his guitar. John’s lease was good for a year, which he hoped would give him ample time to figure out what he wanted to do with the rest of his life. Good thing he had plenty of service pay saved up; he wasn’t about to go begging to his father. 

After another twenty minutes or so, John got to his feet and went back inside. There was a bag of groceries from Safeway that needed to be put away, and just thinking about food made his stomach rumble. It was well after lunch, but not soon enough for dinner, so he just slapped together a turkey sandwich and wandered around the first floor.

The hardwood floors were polished to a warm sheen, and there was a fieldstone fireplace in the living room. A massive floor to ceiling bookshelf was crowded with books, everything from Lee Child to Stephen Hawking to Charles Dickens and even several large astrophysics, mathematics and engineering textbooks; John certainly wouldn’t be lacking for reading material.

The kitchen was small but serviceable; electric stove, side-by-side fridge with an ice maker, small dishwasher, and granite countertops. The best feature was the alcove that held the oak table and four matching chairs; it was five sided, four of the sides holding tall windows and the fifth a French door that led out to the porch. John could easily imagine sitting there in the mornings, watching the sun come up while he drank his coffee.

Half bath and study completed the downstairs, and John was especially taken with the study. The walls were paneled in light wood, the floor covered in plush tan carpeting that his feet sunk into. Various seascapes hung on the walls, interspersed between even more full bookshelves, and the room was dominated by a huge oak desk; the only thing on it was a jar of multi-colored sand. It was the perfect surface for puzzles or model airplanes or beer pong.

John finished up his sandwich, amusing himself with all the domestic things he could fill his time with. He wasn’t great with downtime; when he was still in the Air Force his work kept him pretty busy, and the nights he didn’t were usually spent out drinking with his buddies. The long, empty days that stretched out before him now were both terrifying and full of possibility.

He thought about the rest of the unpacking still left to do and decided to put it off for a while. It’s not like he had a busy schedule. He pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and tossed it carelessly on the kitchen counter; he’d declined to have the landline phone hooked up – not that he expected anyone to call – and he had no need for cable either, not as long as he had WiFi, DVDs and the Wii to play golf on.

John kicked off his sneakers and headed back outside. He walked down the beach, careful to keep away from the crowded areas. The temperature was only in the high sixties, about normal for June or so he’d been told by the real estate agent, but there were plenty of people spread out along the shore and wading out into the water. There was little here to remind him of Afghanistan, and it was a damn sight warmer than McMurdo; that had only been a pity offer anyway, he wasn’t stupid. 

“Shit,” he muttered to himself. He didn’t want to start thinking about that. He turned and went back to the cottage; he’d make a full exploration of his new home and then distract himself with some Battlestar Galactica. No beer, though. It wasn’t a good time for beer.

*o*o*o*

John woke up in the middle of the night, drenched in sweat and panting. He pressed his hand over his heart, trying to keep it from bursting right out of his chest. He forced himself to take deep breaths, forced himself to listen for the sound of the waves through his open window. He glanced at the nightstand, faintly illuminated by the LED nightlight plugged in across the room, and briefly contemplated taking an Ambien. Once he calmed himself down he decided not to; he didn’t like how they made him feel the next day.

With a sigh he shuffled into the bathroom, splashed some cold water on his face, and stripped off the damp t-shirt. He stood there for a while, hands braced on the sink, and studied his reflection in the mirror. Shadows under his eyes stood out starkly against his pale skin. His hair, which was always just a little too long, stood up in wild spikes. 

“You look like crap,” John told himself. 

He turned off the bathroom light and didn’t even give his bed a backward glance as he headed downstairs; he wouldn’t be able to get back to sleep. He headed for the kitchen, wood floors cool beneath his bare feet, and poured himself a glass of water from the tap. There were nightlights in every room and he tried hard not to feel self-conscious about them; his former therapist had always told him that he had to cut himself some slack.

John wandered into the study, digging his toes into the thick carpet as soon as he crossed the threshold. He flicked on the overhead light, blinking for a minute as his eyes adjusted, and then opened the closet door. There was a box shoved in the back corner, he’d noticed it earlier, and having nothing better to do he pulled it out and set it on the desk.

There were no markings on the outside of the box, and just one strip of packing tape holding it closed. He peeled the tape off and looked inside. He didn’t know what he was hoping for, but more books seemed a bit anticlimactic considering the vast amounts of the printed word just in this one room alone. John pulled them out anyway, grinning when he saw what they were. _The Science of Star Wars. The Complete Star Wars Encyclopedia. USS Enterprise Haynes Manual. The Star Trek Encyclopedia. The Real Science of Time Travel_. He wondered why they were packed away instead of out on the shelves.

The last book in the box was a leather bound journal. John sat down behind the desk and shoved the other books off to the side. He had a moment to question whether or not he should even open it, but he couldn’t help being curious about the contents. He decided that if it was something too personal he’d pack it away and forget about it, and opened to the first page.

_This is the private journal of Dr. M. Rodney McKay, PhD, PhD. Under no circumstances do I authorize this to be published – that’s what my professional journals are for and I’ll find a way to sue your ass from beyond the grave so save yourself the aggravation and just…don’t._

_I’m writing this from the house I’ve just purchased in Cannon Beach, Oregon. It’s almost like being home, without all the reasons why I don’t go back there. Home being Canada, to the uninitiated. I have dual citizenship, amongst other things. This is my first piece of real estate and it was more satisfying than I thought it would be to see my name on the deed._

_It’s proving harder than I expected to get out of an institutional frame of mind. Not that I was institutionalized. Well, not in the way you’re probably thinking. I was teaching graduate studies at the California Institute of Technology. One of the top ranked universities in the country, of course. Strange now to sleep as long as I want and not have to be bothered with staff meetings, student meetings, grant proposals, dissertations, ridiculously tedious faculty banquets. Finally my genius will be put to better use._

_And no, I don’t use the term genius lightly. I have an IQ of 176, though it’s been several years since my last test so it’s possible I could be even smarter now, who knows? I’m going to be spreading my vast intelligence around, freelancing. I never had the proper time to do that while I was at CalTech, and there’s good money in it. Not that I’m in it for the money, you understand, but I don’t mind being comfortable while I improve…well, everything._

_This will have to do as an introductory entry. I have to buy some furniture, make this place livable. I have a contractor coming tomorrow to make some upgrades, particularly in the kitchen. This is my place and I want it to be perfect._

There was no date on the journal entry. John flipped through the pages and saw that was the case throughout. The margins were full, though, packed with various types of lists, equations, doodles, and random notes like _remember: green_ and _call Beverly_. John wondered how long ago Rodney McKay had lived in the cottage, and why he wasn’t there anymore. Was all the furniture his?

It was all idle speculation. John supposed if he really got curious he could just talk to the realtor. In the meantime, he repacked the box and carried it up to the bedroom. The hours till dawn lit the sky were spent reading the Star Wars encyclopedia and chuckling at the comments someone – Rodney? – had written in the margins. _Han shot first, stop screwing with the movie. He’s a badass, not a pansy._

*o*o*o*

It only took John an hour to get all his things unpacked and put away, and the bulk of that time was spent alphabetizing his DVDs. Once he had everything organized to his satisfaction he whipped up some scrambled eggs and toast for breakfast and sat watching the waves roll in from his kitchen table. He felt like he was able to breathe for the first time in months as he looked out and saw nothing but empty beach and wide ocean.

He spent part of the morning poking around the grounds, particularly the one-car garage that wasn’t much bigger than his Explorer. There was no workbench, no tools, not even a grease stain to show any other cars had ever been parked there. In a metal cabinet at the rear of the garage he found a first aid kit, a small fire extinguisher, and what looked like the guts of every small appliance known to man stuffed into boxes and plastic containers. A sealed coffee can held a stash of Skittles, which John wasn’t remotely interested in pilfering. Next to the cabinet was a portable Weber grill which, though ridiculously clean, had obviously been used.

“Who keeps their grill that clean?” he wondered aloud. Maybe it was Rodney McKay. That turned John’s thoughts back to the journal and he decided to break for lunch. He sat down at the kitchen table with burritos heated in the microwave and read.

_It’s Jeannie’s birthday today. I’ve picked up the phone a dozen times but I can’t make myself dial the stupid thing. It’s cowardly of me, I know, and I’m not proud of it. It’s like too much time has gone by and nothing I say now will make any difference. I do hope she’s happy, even if she’s doing the domestic thing instead of using the brain she was born with._

_The whole thing has left me feeling a little down. I hate personal introspection, it’s such a waste of time, but no matter what else I tried to work on today she just kept popping into my head. And, okay, maybe I’m a little jealous. Jeannie has a family. And I’ve got…_

_Anyway, I’ve already gotten a call from Richard Burgess at Darlington Electronics. They have a project they want to outsource to me. I gave him a ridiculous price and he agreed to it. I should’ve asked for more. But I can do the job from here and in less time then they’ve allotted._

_Met my left-side neighbors. I hope they don’t plan on frequent visits. The husband is an insufferable bore and his wife has all the brains of a house fly. All they wanted to talk about was the weather and all the cultural activities that Cannon Beach has to offer. Ha! I doubt the local playhouse is going to be hosting the philharmonic anytime soon. If these jobs start rolling in I’ll be able to travel to the cultural hotspots. Besides, that isn’t why I moved here._

_Tribby is settling in. He won’t go past the porch steps, but that’s okay with me. Wouldn’t want anything happening to him. I have to remember to get those soft treats he likes. Spoiled bastard. I only wish someone was at my beck and call the way I am for him. Then again, he didn’t seem particularly taken with the neighbors either, so there’s something to be said for his sense of character._

John set the journal aside and stared out the window. He wondered who Jeannie was. Ex-girlfriend? Relative? He could understand how Rodney was feeling. He’d been estranged from his family for too many years, and there wasn’t much now that could make him approach them. It was sad, really, how things changed. They’d been happy, once, before John’s mom passed away. Before he’d blazed a path for himself that had veered away from the one his father had plotted out. What would Patrick Sheppard think of his son now?

Feeling suddenly twitchy and ill at ease, John dropped his plate in the sink and slammed out the front door. He popped open the back hatch of the truck and pulled out his guitar case, taking it to the back porch. There was a patio table and chairs out there, a little dusty but he didn’t care. He pulled his Gibson out of the case and just touching it took the tremors out of his hands.

He played without hooking it to the portable amplifier, which he’d left in the truck. It was enough to feel the strings beneath his fingers. He played _Folsom Prison Blues_ , humming along but not actually singing. He segued from that into _Hurt_ and by the time he was done his chest was so tight he didn’t even know how he was still breathing. John set aside the guitar and went to the kitchen for a beer. One turned into two turned into six, until he was sitting on the floor with his back against the fridge, his whole body shaking with the effort of holding in his sobs.

*o*o*o*

Slowly John settled into a routine. He’d contacted a therapist up in Astoria and once a week he’d make the forty minute drive. He didn’t talk much, but convinced Dr. Marshall to keep him on Ativan; he’d been on Clonidine but hated the regulated doses, and the Ativan he took only when he needed it. It was a small but important measure of control. He still didn’t spend any great amount of time in town, beyond grocery shopping, and so far none of his neighbors had come to welcome him to the neighborhood, which was just as well.

He sent away for a kit to build a remote-controlled Beechcraft bi-plane, and started assembling it in the study. If that one worked out he had his eye on an F-16 kit that looked like it might be fun. When he wasn’t tinkering with the plane he was reading _War and Peace_ , which he’d found in the extensive library that came with the cottage. At least once a day he’d read an entry from Rodney’s journal.

_I’m thinking I should get a telescope. Do you think that’s a cliché for an astrophysicist? When I was a kid I loved looking up at the stars. I knew all the constellations by the time I was seven. I’ve seen the aurora borealis, meteor showers, comets, and eclipses, and I never get tired of it. Some of it is the math; the numbers of the universe are so big, endless lines of them. I wonder, sometimes, what it must be like for astronauts who get to float around up there, all the weight of the world literally sloughing off them._

_I’m in a strange mood today. Maybe I’ll go into town and poke around for a while. My supply of good coffee is almost gone and it’s remotely possible one of the specialty stores will carry something comparable. I suppose I could have Max send me some Kona beans but it probably isn’t good for me to stay in the house so much. This LexCorp project has hit a snag and stepping away from it for a little while could be useful, clear the head and all that. My need to justify going into town is bordering on pathetic._

_Tribby left a dead bird for me on the porch this morning. Disgusting way to demonstrate my inclusion into his tribe of one. There was no sense burying it, he’d just dig it up anyway, so I put on gloves and tossed it into the neighbor’s yard. Let them deal with it._

John nodded absently as he set aside the journal. He didn’t know why Rodney was reluctant to leave the house, although maybe it was just his big brain being unable to deal with regular human interaction. His own reasons were a bit more complex, but he didn’t want to come off as pathetic either. So he took a few deep breaths and then headed into town himself.

Cannon Beach was a resort town, cheerily picturesque for the tourists that came every summer and full of little specialty shops that all seemed to be aiming for quaint. John had missed the farmer’s market by two days, and tried to remember to come back next Tuesday to see what they had. One of the things he wanted to work on was improving his cooking repertoire beyond the basics of sandwich making, eggs and pasta. He went to Mariner Market and took some time contemplating the meat selections, finally choosing a small sirloin. He also picked up a propane canister for the grill, and some potato salad from the deli counter that didn’t look too vinegary. 

Recalling Rodney’s mention of coffee, John stowed the groceries in the truck and walked a little way down the street to Bella Espresso, a fancy coffee shop and wine bar. The smell of freshly brewed coffee was heavenly and he took a minute to just breathe it all in before picking up a pound of ground beans and a chai latte to go. Back out on the sidewalk a plaintive squeak caught his attention. At one of the café tables set up outside was a teenage girl sitting cross-legged in a chair with a large cardboard box on the ground in front of her. Closer inspection showed little furballs inside.

“Hey, mister. You want a kitten? They’re free.” The girl sounded bored and John wondered how many people had stopped by to look but not take one home.

There were four kittens in the box, three of them curled up in a big ball in corner, which was lined with a scrunched up blue beach towel. The third kitten was orange with a hint of stripes, covered in lots of fur that stuck up in tufts, and was trying to climb his way out of his cardboard prison. John set down his latte and picked him up, wincing a bit as tiny claws dug into the skin on his hand.

“They’re Maine Coons,” the girl said, perking up a bit. “Litter trained and had all their booster shots already.”

“Cute,” John replied. The kitten made an awkward jump to his shoulder, clinging there by his claws. He thought about Rodney, who wrote frequently about Tribby; John assumed the animal was a cat, but Rodney never came out and said so. He thought maybe it would be nice to have another warm body in the cottage with him, someone to talk to besides himself.

“He’s a boy,” the girl said helpfully. “I think he already likes you.”

It certainly seemed to be the case. Once John gave the little furball a boost with his hand, it settled on his shoulder and did its best parrot imitation. 

“Guess I’d better take him then,” he said to the girl. She grinned back at him.

“Thanks! Hey, if you know anyone else that’s looking for a kitten tell them where to find me.”

“I sure will.” John grabbed up his latte and made his way back to his truck. It was turning out to be a pretty good day. He just needed to go back to the market for some cat supplies.

He was almost at the truck when a high-pitched scream rent the air. John dropped everything, the latte splashing over his sneakers, and dropped into a crouch. He was only dimly aware of pain in his shoulder at the kitten dug in, squeaking in protest.

_John kept his head down, taking cover behind the still-smoking remains of the Humvee. Wilson was screaming, the sound of it going through John’s head like a spike, but there was nothing he could do for the kid. If he didn’t get back to the Black Hawk they’d all be dead, and he wasn’t going to give anyone the satisfaction._ _While he waited for his moment, weapon up and ready, blowing sand stung the exposed bits of skin on his face. His heart was pounding and he willed himself to focus, to stuff down the panic and the horror; it wasn’t productive, not when they were counting on him. Jesus, he wished Wilson would shut the fuck up already._

John suddenly became aware that someone was talking to him, a woman. Her voice cut through the layers of panic and noise in his head until it all backed off, leaving him disoriented and a little dizzy.

“You’re okay. Everything’s going to be okay. Sir? Do you know where you are?”

He realized he was squatting behind one of the wire mesh wastebaskets that were placed at regular intervals up and down the street, and his face flamed with embarrassment. A woman was crouched beside him, the expression on her face concerned but not horrified or amused, as he’d expected it might be.

“Sir? Can you tell me your name?”

“John. It’s John.”

“Hi, John. My name’s Maggie. Do you know where you are?”

He looked around, and suddenly everything snapped firmly into place. Gone were the sand dunes and Wilson’s death screams and the hot, oppressive air. Now he could taste the salt, hear the sound of the water coming from just over two blocks away.

“John?”

“Cannon Beach,” he said. His throat was dry, and he could feel the phantom grit of sand against his skin.

“Think you can get up?” Maggie stood and offered him a hand. He accepted it and got to his feet, just a little shaky, and saw that she had his kitten cradled in the crook of her arm.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled, looking down at his latte-stained sneakers. His skin was still jittery with nerves and remembered adrenalin and he just wanted to go home. Luckily he hadn’t seemed to have drawn a crowd.

“You don’t have to be sorry.” Maggie put two fingers under his chin and lifted his head up until he was looking right at her. She had pretty brown eyes and dark brown hair pulled up into a ponytail. John estimated that she was somewhere in her forties. She wore running shorts and a tank top, MP3 player strapped to her bicep; the headphones were draped around her neck.

“Are you okay to drive?” she asked.

“Yeah. I think so. I have to stop at the store for…” He waved his hand in the direction of the kitten.

Maggie nodded. “I figured this was one of Kerry’s. Tell you what, I’ll come with you. We’ll pick up what you need at the store and then I’ll make sure you get home okay.”

“You don’t have to do that.” John felt bad enough for having made a spectacle of himself in the middle of the street; no sense compounding it by needing a babysitter.

“I know I don’t.” Maggie retrieved his bag of coffee and handed it to him. “What branch of the service were you in?”

He glanced over at her, surprised. “Air Force.”

“My brother was in the Marine Corps. He was discharged almost four years ago, but he’s still working through PTSD.”

Well, that explained why she hadn’t been freaked out, and why she was being so nice to him now. They walked in silence back to the market, and John’s truck. He stowed the coffee but took possession of the kitten and brought him in with them. It didn’t take long to pick out a litter box and everything associated with it, plus some kitten kibble and a couple of small stainless steel bowls.

“Do you have a name for him yet?” Maggie asked, scratching the kitten behind one ear while John checked out.

“No. I figured I’d spend some time with him and see what name seems to fit his personality.”

“Well, just don’t give him a color name. I’ve always thought that was so lazy. Blackie, brownie, snowball, that kind of thing.”

John was surprised to find himself chuckling, almost as if he hadn’t just lost his shit in front of all of Cannon Beach. “I’ll try to stay away from Ginger.”

“Good man,” Maggie said with an approving nod. She snagged his receipt as the cashier was handing it over and wrote on the back of it with a pen also appropriated from the cashier. “This is my cell number. Any time you want to talk – about _anything_ – you give me a call.”

John took it and tucked it in his pants pocket. “Thanks. Really.”

“If I’d had more warning I’d have welcomed you to town earlier, and with a cake or something.” Maggie walked with him out to the parking lot. “Do you have a place in town?”

John stowed his groceries. “Beach cottage, actually. Rodney McKay’s old place?” He wasn’t sure what made him say that, but now he was curious to see if Maggie knew the name.

“Oh, Dr. McKay? I’m glad they’re finally renting that, it was a shame to have it empty so long.”

“Did you know him?” John leaned against the open door. 

“Not really. He was rather infamous around here for his bad temper and miserable people skills.” Maggie looked thoughtful. “He left about, oh, two years ago I’d say. Rather suddenly, from what I understand. Left almost everything behind. Caused a bit of a stir at the time, lots of speculation, but I guess he just got a good job offer and had to leave in a hurry.”

“Oh. Well…um…thanks again.”

Maggie put a hand on his arm. “Are you getting some help?”

He nodded, and felt a blush rising up his neck again; he knew logically that there was nothing wrong with being in therapy but he couldn’t help feeling that it marked him as being less capable, like he couldn’t just shrug off the past and focus on the present.

“Well, remember what I said.”

John got in the truck and with a deep sigh of relief pointed it towards the cottage. He didn’t care if he had to live on saltines for the next couple of weeks, he wasn’t going to leave the house except for his therapy appointments. The kitten mewed at him from the passenger seat.

“You have no idea,” he replied.

*o*o*o*

The kitten turned out to like heights – and glaring down from them like a vulture – so much so that he reminded John of the old Peanuts comic strip. Which is how an orange kitten, with tufty ears and paws that spoke of great size to come, came to be called Snoopy; he didn’t seem to take any offense at being named after a dog.

John found it kind of nice having Snoopy around the house. Sometimes they’d nap together on the couch, the cat curled up tightly on his chest, and he’d even turned out to be fairly consistent at playing fetch with a crumpled up piece of paper. It was feeling a little less lonely in the cottage, although part of that new, fuller space had been taken up by a man John had never met. He’d be reading something, or watching something, and think _I wonder what Rodney would say about that_.

He tried not to feel too weird about it. Most men his age didn’t have imaginary friends, that was true, but it wasn’t like he was pretending that Rodney was there in the room with him. It was more like he was an old friend from college, one that John hadn’t seen in a long time but had fond memories of and thought about from time to time.

The journal had given him a good idea – or so he surmised – about the kind of person Rodney McKay, double PhD, was. Smart, with a dry wit and a sarcastic tongue. He didn’t suffer fools gladly, but he had almost no sense of his own personal worth outside of his intellect. The pages of the journal were filled with absences – no friends, no colleagues since he worked from home, not even any family that he had regular contact with. A lonely man, with no-one around to appreciate what he had to offer. Well, no-one besides John who felt a kinship with him he never had for anyone else.

He’d Googled Rodney one night when he couldn’t sleep. There were links for various professional journals, most of which you needed a subscription to if you wanted to read the articles, and he could only guess which ones belonged to his Rodney and which were other, random Rodney McKays. On the CalTech website he found a picture and spent a long time looking at it. It was a candid shot, part of the Physics department photo album, of Rodney in the middle of giving a lecture, his hands blurry as he was caught in the middle of gesturing about something. He had a strong face, broad shoulders. Bit of a receding hairline, and the picture wasn’t good enough to make out his eye color. He tried to imagine Rodney sitting in the study, writing in his journal. Without even thinking about it he right-clicked on the picture and saved it to his desktop.

There was also a mystery he hoped to solve; namely, where Rodney disappeared to, and why. It was hard not to skip ahead, to see if there was any kind of clue, but he was rationing the journal; he wasn’t ready to get to the end of it yet.

_Went into town today. Had a cup of coffee that didn’t suck. The place is lousy with tourists, I don’t know how the regulars stand them. This is just another reason why I stay at home. I wouldn’t be surprised if being around that much banality sucks away IQ points every time I go out. It’s quite possible that Oregon is going to make me stupid._

_There was a gay couple at that vegetarian café. They weren’t particularly overt about it, but I could tell. It was in the looks they gave each other, the way they kept close enough so that they were always touching. If anyone else noticed they didn’t seem take offense; you just never know how people are going to react to two men being close like that. Maybe things are just different beachside._

_After I saw them I felt a little like I was having an adverse allergic reaction. I think I was just jealous. Tribby is good company most days, but nothing like another warm body. Some days…well, let’s just say that while there may be someone out there for everyone, I’m starting to doubt my inclusion in that pithy little proverb. I wonder sometimes if my genius precludes me having anything else. Most days that’s fine with me, it really is._

_Turned down a government contract. It was military and I absolutely refuse to work on weapons systems. I don’t care how pretty they make the package, I do have standards. Not many, but the ones I do have I stick with. I worked with a biochemist once. They turned his project into a deadly weapon, one that killed people, and it wrecked him. I’m not going down that road. There’s nothing they could offer me to make me change my mind._

*o*o*o*

Thunder rumbled overhead, the roiling clouds making mid-afternoon look like twilight. Rain fell from the sky in sheets, blown by the gale force winds. John huddled in his bed, lights blazing. The nightstand was covered with candles, lighters and his big Maglite, just in case the power went out. He’d already had an Ativan, which helped keep the thunder mostly sounding like a force of nature instead of an echo of mortars.

Storms never used to bother John. As a kid he always watched from the veranda as the black clouds rolled in, counting the time between lightning and thunder. As a pilot he’d flown through his fair share of them, which always pumped up the adrenalin and made the ride all the more wild. Now, though, painful memories rode in on the lightning and made him want to cover his head and curl into a little ball until it was over.

The day had started out pretty well, too. Maggie had stopped by, bringing brownies, and invited John to her house on Saturday for a BBQ and to meet her husband and kids. It should’ve been awkward, since the only other time they’d seen each other had been when he lost his shit in the middle of the sidewalk, but somehow Maggie had made it easy. Maybe that was why he’d accepted her invite when normally he’d have made some kind of excuse not to go. Or maybe it was because she’d brought a catnip ball for Snoopy.

Another clap of thunder rattled the windows and John clutched Rodney’s journal tighter. The weather certainly wasn’t bothering the stupid kitten, who was perched precariously on the headboard of the big sleigh bed and purring contentedly. 

He reached for the bottle of water propped up beside him in the bed; the Ativan made him thirsty as hell. Then he opened the journal and started to read, his reward for not having a big storm freak-out.

_I should’ve known they wouldn’t take no for an answer. More representatives from the US military showed up on my doorstep, one of them a very attractive blonde who is absolutely wasting her intellect working with jarheads. She didn’t seem to appreciate the heads up._

_They’re interested in my work on wormhole theory and I can’t see any particular reason for that unless it’s to use it as some sort of weapon. If they could harness the power of it, contain it somehow, it would be devastating. I told the pretty Major that, and told the rest they could fuck off. Dr. Rodney McKay has never and will never work on weapons systems. The end. Thank you for coming._

_I can’t help being curious, though. There are of course other applications that could be applied to wormhole technology. Just in terms of exploration alone, it would open up the entire universe. Just imagine what might be out there, the knowledge we could get from races far more advanced than our own. Which, yes, I realize is very Star Trekkie of me, and as soon as there’s the hint of military or government involvement it would all go straight to hell, but a man can dream._

_The military envoys eventually left, but Major Hotlips intimated that they’d be back. I don’t know what they think they have to offer that would make me come on board. They already brought the promise of vast sums of money, working with top minds in my field, the opportunity to do exciting work, blah blah blah. I mean, that’s pretty good incentive, right? It would beat the hell out of some of these corporate jobs. Oh, well, it’s a moot point because there’s no way I’m saying yes. They can have a damned parade in my honor through the living room and the answer will still be no._

John was glad that Rodney was standing firm, but he had a bad feeling. In his experience, if the military wanted something bad enough they’d get it regardless of the means. Was that why Rodney had up and disappeared two years ago? Had they just come and taken him away to work on secret projects? He sincerely hoped not. Maybe he’d gone into hiding, to avoid just that scenario. 

Normally he didn’t read more than one entry per day, but with the storm still beating against the roof he felt he’d earned at least one more. He reached up behind his head to scritch at Snoopy’s chin, and turned the page.

_Took a day off for myself and actually went down to the beach. Greased up with my specially designed sunblock, of course. I was able to observe that parents seem to get quite lax with their job when they’re on vacation. Kids were just running up and down the beach, in and out of the water, and seemingly with no parental supervision whatsoever. Don’t they know how easy it is to drown, even in the shallows? Criminal._

_That gay couple is still here. Maybe I was wrong, maybe they’re locals. They were necking right there in front of everyone. I wonder what it’s like, being so comfortable in a relationship that you don’t care what other people think. It got me thinking, though. Hank at the market suggested I try online dating, since it seems to be the general consensus around here that all I need to make me less annoying is some full-time companionship. Small towns are notoriously obnoxious about minding other people’s business, or so I’m learning._

_Thing is, I have no idea how these dating sites match people up. What formulas do they use? I spent the rest of the day constructing algorithms that, if the proper fields were filled in, would expertly match up people who stood the best chance at having a successful relationship. It could redefine dating the world over, so there’s no way I can sell it to anyone. I refuse to earn my Nobel on such tawdry grounds. Still, I wonder if it would’ve been able to help me find someone._

_Not that I’m not just fine on my own, because I am. There are countless perks to being single. I have ultimate control over the TV remote, I don’t have to apologize for liking mayonnaise on my French fries, I can leave my dirty boxers on the bathroom floor and not hear a load of shit about it, I can stay up all night working on a project without anyone getting pissy with me, and that’s just to name a few._

_If that couple isn’t local I hope they go home soon._

By the time the storm blew over John was asleep, slumped over on the bed and holding tightly to Rodney’s journal.

*o*o*o*

When John went for his appointment with the shrink the following week, he talked about Rodney. Dr. Marshall assured him that it was perfectly normal to feel a close connection to someone he’d never met, and that being open to that meant that he was healing. Which then turned into John’s first honest accounting of the incident in Afghanistan, because if Rodney could be so open about his feelings there was no reason he couldn’t do the same; by the time they were finished he’d cried like a little girl and Dr. Marshall had told him that he was finally, finally making progress.

John headed back to Cannon Beach feeling husked out and a bit lighter around the edges than when he’d left. It didn’t hurt that he had a golf date with Ben, Maggie’s husband, the same day. They’d hit it off at the BBQ, to Maggie’s obvious pleasure, and John remembered what it was like to have a friend.

They drove up to the Seaside Golf Club in Ben’s Camry, chatting amiably about their hopes for the upcoming football season – Ben was a Seahawks fan, but John favored the Cowboys and went on at length about Staubach’s Hail Mary pass back in ’75 – and Maggie’s plans for a dinner party.

The eighteen-hole course was nice, though certainly not the most challenging John had ever played on, and he made a mental note to have his clubs shipped up; the rentals were okay but nothing like his own Callaway’s. He and Ben turned out to be fairly evenly matched, and they had fun smack-talking each other for the first few holes until Ben attempted a casual conversation change that just came off extremely awkward.

“So, you…uh…are you…seeing anyone?”

John frowned at him. “Are you asking me out?” He was gratified to see the flush that immediately rose in Ben’s cheeks. The other man scratched the back of his neck.

“No. Jeez. Just, you know. Wondering.”

“You mean Maggie’s wondering,” John sighed. That was the last thing he needed, his friends trying to fix him up with random women. Whatever progress he was making in therapy, he still wasn’t ready for _that_.

“She’s completely incapable of not meddling,” Ben admitted. “She thinks she’s this great matchmaker.”

It would’ve been the easiest thing for John to say that no, he wasn’t seeing anyone, but that he also wasn’t interested. Maggie, who had been witness to his PTSD, would probably let it go if he brought that up; she understood how difficult it could be for him without dragging some hapless woman into things. Why he didn’t say just that, he didn’t know.

“I’m with someone.”

“Oh?” Ben looked suddenly interested and John wondered if Maggie was the only one who got into matchmaking. “Someone local?”

“It’s kind of a long distance thing. We don’t see each other much.” Inwardly he winced. What the hell was he _doing? We don’t see each other much?_ How about _never?_ Because suddenly there was a face to go with his non-existent romance and now he was sure he’d painted himself into a corner because what would he say if Ben pressed for more information? He hadn’t known Ben and Maggie long enough to feel comfortable coming out to them, and he definitely couldn’t admit that his imaginary boyfriend was Rodney McKay.

“That’s too bad,” was the sympathetic response. Ben seemed to get that John didn’t want to talk about it and got them on the topic of action movies instead. It was another three holes before John could get back into the banter they’d had earlier, and he spent the rest of the day worrying that he was getting obsessed with a man he’d never met, and likely never would.

*o*o*o*

John sat behind the desk in the study, laptop open in front of him and his mostly-finished biplane set off to the side. He did another Google search for Rodney McKay, this time looking for his current address or at least a general idea of his location. Cannon Beach came up, as did an address in Ottawa that John disregarded because Rodney had seemed pretty certain about never going back there. A Boston address popped up, with an associated phone number, and he wrote that down to check later. Then went back and looked up the Canadian number as well, just in case.

He tried linking Rodney’s name with the military but didn’t get any pertinent hits there. Getting frustrated, he typed in _where’s rodney mckay_ and that provided a link to someone’s science blog. It seemed that Cannon Beach wasn’t alone in noticing the absence of Rodney; the writer of the blog wanted to know why the eminent and universally disliked though well-respected scientist had dropped off the face of the Earth, citing a complete cessation of journal articles, random awards, and speaking engagements.

“What happened to you, McKay?” John muttered to himself. He was half-tempted to skip ahead to the last journal entry, though it probably didn’t have much light to shed on the subject. What would he have written, after all? _Military types showed up again and dragged me off to a secret base to work on nefarious projects and never let me see the light of day_. Yeah, sure. Maybe he’d been beamed up by aliens, or changed his name to Jorge Nervosa and was living a life of luxury on the Mexican coast.

Snoopy climbed up John’s pant leg and hopped up on the desk, lying right in front of the laptop. John huffed out a laugh and scratched the kitten’s belly.

“Well, at least I have you. Right, buddy?”

Snoopy purred and John tried not to worry about the fate of Rodney McKay, at least for a little while.

*o*o*o*

It was a warm, sunny day and John was enjoying it from the beach. He stretched out on a towel, hands behind his head, and contemplated the sky. There were a lot of things he wouldn’t miss about being in the Air Force – he’d always chafed at regimentation and it took every ounce of willpower not to buck authority. There were more than a few notes in his jacket, condemning his attitude and noting his flirtation with insubordination. He’d always buckled down when it counted, though; when other people were relying on him. His team was everything and he’d always subscribed to the no-man-left-behind philosophy. Still did, even though it had meant career suicide for him in the end.

The one thing he did miss was flying. There was no feeling in the world like defying the laws of gravity and soaring up above the clouds at ridiculously high speeds. John had always felt that he could shed everything that held him down for as long as he was in the cockpit, soaring through the skies; nothing could catch him up there, not his father’s disapproval or his mother’s absence or the commanding officer who wanted his head on a plate.

There was a little municipal airport up in Seaside and John toyed with the idea of buying a plane. Nothing big, not too fancy. Just enough to get him back in the blue. A Piper maybe, something that would hold passengers. He didn’t think there was any kind of airplane tour locally, though he was fairly certain there was a helicopter that did tourist runs out of Seaside. Of course, that all depended on him getting financing and actually staying in the area longer than a year. Still, it was nice to have something to think about, a future plan no matter how tentative.

John rolled over on his stomach, enjoying the warmth of the sun on his skin, and flipped open the Star Trek encyclopedia. There were plenty of Rodney’s little notes in the margins, most of them speculating on the amount of venereal space diseases that Kirk may have acquired during his travels. He learned that Rodney preferred Chris Pine’s Kirk over Shatner’s, stating that the former was much more ‘rugged and manly’ than his predecessor; John was inclined to agree with that. Scattered amongst these little observations were some non-linear equations, random groupings of prime numbers, and a recipe for fudge.

“You a Trek fan?” a voice asked. 

John looked up to see a strange guy looming over him, wearing a tank top and bathing trunks that were entirely too short for his taste.

“Yeah.”

Taking that as an invitation, the guy sat down on the edge of John’s towel. John was annoyed at the intrusion; this was his Rodney time and he didn’t want to share it. He closed the book and slid it to his chest to keep this guy from looking through it.

“Me too. I’m Jake.” He held out his hand and John shook it before boosting himself up in to a sitting position as well; he stowed the book safely at his back.

“John.”

“I’m vacationing with some of my old frat buddies. You live around here?”

“Yeah.” The guy was attractive, with his wind-tossed blonde hair and muscular arms, but he didn’t ping for John at all.

“Maybe you’d like to give me a… _personal_ …tour?”

And bold. Jake was really, really bold. John could read the interest on his face, in his posture, and it was all he could do to keep from bolting. Instead he fell back on what had become his new get-out-of-jail-free card.

“Maybe another time. I’m with someone.”

Jake looked around, clearly not convinced.

“He’s not here right now,” John clarified. “But we’re…uh… _exclusive_.”

“Can’t blame a guy for trying,” Jake said amicably enough. “See you around.”

“Not if I can help it,” John muttered under his breath as the guy finally got up and left. He wondered if this was worth bringing up with Dr. Marshall. It was possible he was using Rodney as an excuse not to get out there and engage with other people. Of course, it was more likely that he just wasn’t ready yet and he didn’t think Rodney would mind much, if he ever found out about it. Which of course he never would.

“God, this sucks,” he whined to himself.

*o*o*o*

It happened on a Thursday, and even though he’d been expecting it John was still thrown for a loop. He felt bereft, like he’d just lost his closest friend. He’d reached the last entry in Rodney’s journal; there’d be no follow up, no where-is-he-now recap. Just the end.

_Looks like I’m making the trip to Colorado Springs after all. Why does that make me feel like a complete failure? Major Blondie came back this morning, alone this time, and laid things out for me in a very clear and concise fashion. I don’t dare talk about it here, because I had to sign about a thousand confidentiality agreements, but it’s the work of a lifetime and they quite honestly need someone with my genius on their project if they want to get it off the ground. The things I’ll be able to do! It’s unbelievable and amazing and terrifying._

_She said they’d take care of everything, with the house and all my things. Put them into storage. I’ll have to find someone to take Tribby, they won’t let me bring him. I thought I wouldn’t mind so much, leaving this stupid little town with its nosy inhabitants, but I do. I really do. I love my house, and my quiet, and the fact that despite myself I’ve made a few friends. I’ll have to start over now and I’m not sure I have it in me. Oh, I can do the work, that’s no problem. But making new friends hasn’t seemed this daunting since grade four._

_Not sure what to do with this journal. I don’t think I’ll bring it with me; something tells me I won’t have as much alone time as I do now and I wouldn’t want anyone reading it._

_This had better be worth it._

Just that and nothing more. The military had gotten him after all. John pictured Rodney in some underground bunker, away from the sun and the fresh air and the soothing sound of the waves on the beach. Was he making scientific breakthroughs and changing the world? Or had they tricked him into designing fancy new weapons instead? Thinking about it made John sick.

He’d hoped for more for Rodney, and in his estimation the man had deserved more; a life, with people who loved him for what he was, and a chance to make a lasting contribution to science with his big brain.

When he went to bed that night, John took an Ambien to help him sleep.

*o*o*o*

The day that John took his remote-controlled Beechcraft for her inaugural flight dawned cool but clear. He used his front walk as a runway and when the plane took off into the air he felt such a vicarious flare of joy that he laughed in a way he hadn’t in a very long time. He put her through the paces, engine buzzing up and down the beach, and he was so happy that when he finally brought her in for a landing he went in the house and invited Maggie and Ben and the kids over for dinner.

It was the first time he’d voluntarily had people at the cottage and he was full of nerves getting everything ready. He ran to the market to pick up some groceries, vacillating for a while between getting beer or wine. Wine was classier but he was more of a beer drinker, so he ended up with two six-packs of Widmer Brothers Hefeweizen; it was a pretty decent pale ale.

His cooking efforts had improved a bit but he decided to stick to what he was best at. Which meant a big pot of marinara, ziti, and chicken parmesan. He cheated on the garlic bread, picking up two loaves of the premade kind he only had to heat in the oven. Maggie had said she’d bring dessert, so that was at least one thing he didn’t have to worry about.

While the sauce simmered John turned his attention to tidying up the cottage. There wasn’t all the much to do, really, since he generally kept things pretty neat. He swept and Swiffered the hardwood floors, and ran the vacuum over the carpet in the study. The box with Rodney’s special books and his journal were carefully stowed away in his bedroom closet.

Maggie and her entourage arrived ten minutes late, which she blamed on the kids; Meg and Tony were nine year old twins who alternated between periods of manic energy and a state of boneless lethargy that John only assumed was typical of that age. Maggie handed off a chocolate glaze cake and then went to inspect the sauce, nodding her approval when she took a quick taste.

“This is really good, John.”

“It’s about the only thing I can make,” he admitted. “I’ve been working on a roast. Don’t have it quite perfected yet.”

“You’ll get it,” Maggie assured him. “Just takes practice. I can give you some pointers.”

“I’d decline if I were you,” Ben said quietly over his shoulder. “Her roasts always come out dryer than sawdust.”

John hid a grin. “Anyone want a beer?”

“I do!” Tony called from the living room.

“Not a chance,” Maggie called back.

John got drinks for everyone – soda for the kids – and they filled the last few minutes before dinner with a quick tour of the cottage. Ben was taken with the study, and John regaled him with the story of how well his plane had performed that morning, with a promise for a repeat performance at the next possible opportunity.

“So many books,” Maggie said, running her finger along the spines.

“They’re Rodney’s,” John replied without thinking. “I’m pretty sure he read them all, too, though I don’t know how he found the time.”

“Who’s Rodney?” Ben asked.

John bit the inside of his cheek. Damn, he hadn’t meant to say that. He’d sounded casual, and he knew by the contemplative look Maggie was giving him that she’d picked up on the nuances. 

“I think the bread should be done, John,” she said. Grateful for the out, he took it, practically running out of the study.

After dinner, which was a culinary success, Maggie left Ben loading the dishwasher and the kids playing with the Wii while she took John outside for a walk before it was time for dessert. She linked her arm with his and he tried to swallow down the anxiety that was suddenly skittering over his skin.

“So. Rodney?”

John twitched. “What? They’re his books.”

“Tell me what’s going on or else I’m going to think up a mental illness for you and have you institutionalized.” The teasing tone of her voice helped relieve a bit of the tension he was feeling, but he was still worried about what she was going to say.

“I found his journal,” he admitted after a lengthy silence. “I don’t know. I read it and it was like…I got to know the guy. You know? With all his stuff there, it feels like he’s a real person and not just words on a page. I know that sounds stupid.”

Maggie shook her head and gave his arm a squeeze. “It’s not stupid. When I was a kid some of my best friends were characters in books. I know what it’s like.”

Her reaction was a relief and John let his shoulders drop. “I looked him up online, but it’s like he dropped off the face of the earth.”

“Is he your long-distance relationship?”

John flushed. “I didn’t…I just don’t want to be fixed up right now.”

“Okay.” And just like that it was. They walked in silence for a while, until John got up the courage to ask about something else that had been on his mind.

“Rodney had a cat. Before he left he wrote he was going to give him to someone. Do you think it was someone local?”

Maggie looked thoughtful. “I’m sure it was. He left so suddenly, I don’t think he’d had time to get the cat to family or anything.”

John didn’t bother mentioning that Rodney hadn’t had any contact with his family; the details were his alone, coveted pieces of information that he didn’t feel the need to share. And he couldn’t quite vocalize his need to find the cat, another tangible piece of Rodney to hoard beneath the cottage roof.

“Tell you what. I’m pretty good friends with Trish Mabry. She works in the vet’s office. I can ask her about…what’s the cat’s name?”

“Tribby,” John supplied quickly. Maggie raised her eyebrow at the name.

“Right. If he’s in town, chances are she’ll know. There’ll be a record of visits.”

“Thanks, Maggie. I mean it.” John slung an arm across her shoulders. “I really appreciate you not wigging out about this.”

“Dr. McKay wasn’t very liked in town. But maybe that’s because people didn’t really know him. If you’ve read his journal, you must recognize a kindred spirit and that’s not weird at all. Just…don’t get all psycho with it, okay?”

John chuckled. “I promise, no dressing up mannequins, calling them Rodney, and setting them at the dinner table.”

They headed back to the house then, for chocolate cake and a few hands of 500 Rummy, but John kept turning that phrase over and over in his head, liking the way it sounded. _Kindred spirts_.

*o*o*o*

_The best thing about Tribby is that he rarely interrupts me, which is more than I can say of my professional colleagues. I felt compelled to attend a symposium on quantum field theory, which featured a presentation by one of my so-called peers. The same old thing, just presented in a different way, and I really wish these people would start being the slightest bit forward thinking for a change. Why must they rehash the same tired arguments instead of finding new ways to make things work? It staggers the mind. And the hors d’oeuvres weren’t very good._

_Wait till I present my paper on the practical applications of subspace. That’ll knock their collective socks off!_

_Another good thing about Tribby is that he’s excellent for bouncing theories off of. Just sits there and patiently listens while I work things out aloud, and then I don’t have to feel like a complete lunatic for talking to myself. I think this must be the reason people started keeping pets. And while I hate being allergic to something as stupid as citrus, I’m really glad I’m not allergic to cats._

_Besides, cats are just naturally intelligent. Dogs have the collective IQ of a paperweight. I’ve heard dog people say that cats are arrogant and stand-offish; maybe that’s why Tribby and I get along so well. When he deigns to let me pet him, it helps me feel a little less alone._

John had to force himself to drive the posted speed limit and not race like a NASCAR driver all the way to the animal shelter. Maggie’s friend in the vet’s office had successfully found Tribby’s records, and John had gone to see Verna Wallace to try and work out getting the cat back from her. Only Verna had taken ill and been moved to a nursing home in Astoria, and her daughter had sent her four cats to the animal shelter.

“Please be here. Please be here.” John kept the chant up under his breath as he pulled into the parking lot. He barely remembered to turn the truck off before he was running for the door. Tribby had been dropped off almost a month ago and while John was afraid he’d been adopted back out, he was absolutely terrified that Rodney’s cat had been put to sleep.

“Can I help you?” the man at the front desk asked.

John nodded and tried to catch his breath. “I’m…I’m looking for a cat. His name is Tribby and he was mistakenly dropped off about a month ago by…uh…Leslie Wallace.”

“I’m sorry?”

“It was a mistake,” John reiterated. “Her mother was cat sitting, Tribby belongs to…he’s my roommate’s cat.”

“Wait here.” The man disappeared through an Employee’s Only door, leaving John alone in the tiny office that smelled of animal musk and disinfectant. Less than a minute later he was back, all smiles.

“Good news! We still have Tribby, and the information checks out. We’re going to have to charge you an adoption fee, though.”

John nearly sagged in relief. “No, that’s fine. Perfect!” He filled out the forms, turned over the fifteen dollar adoption fee, then realized he didn’t have a pet carrier and paid an additional twenty-five dollars for that. Once the transactions were complete, the man gestured for John to follow him through the door marked Cat Room.

Cages lined both sides of the room, filled with all manner of cats and kittens. John’s heart went out to them with each and every sad little meow that floated his way, but he certainly wasn’t trying to become The Cat Man of Cannon Beach. Two was definitely going to be his limit.

“Here we go.” The guy opened up a cage, the informational card on the door listing all of Tribby’s pertinent information. 

John wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting, but Tribby exceeded all his expectations. He seemed to be a mix of every color available in the feline fur rainbow, his long hair standing up in tufty clumps all over his lean body. A pair of baleful golden eyes stared at him from an almost-Persian face, the nose pushed in but not quite as flat. He had no discernable tail, and a jagged tear in one ear. Just like that, his name suddenly clicked into place and it was all John could do to contain his hysterical laughter.

Tribby did in fact bear a striking resemblance to a tribble.

“To be honest,” the animal shelter guy said as he manhandled the cat into the carrier. “This guy was on the short list. He looks a little…rough around the edges, and there hasn’t been any interest in adoption.”

Tribby was finally successfully loaded into the carrier, with only one rusty meow of protest, and John wrapped his hand tightly around the handle. If he’d waited much longer, he would’ve been too late. He made a mental note to send Maggie some chocolates or flowers or something.

“He’s all up-to-date with his shots, and that information is in the packet I gave you.” The guy led him back out to the main office. “You should take him to the vet a year after the date of his last visit, which will be listed there as well.”

“Got it.”

“Good luck!”

John got the carrier stowed safely in the passenger seat and was extra careful driving back to the cottage, not wanting to take any chances with his cargo. He wasn’t sure how Snoopy and Tribby would react to each other, though he hoped it wouldn’t devolve into violence because Snoopy was still just a kitten and Tribby looked like he had a mean streak. He wanted it to work, for the sole reason that this was Rodney’s cat, his one companion. 

“I’m taking you home, buddy. I’m sorry Rodney won’t be there, but I hope you’ll be happy anyway.”

If Tribby was happy to be back at the cottage, he played it close to the vest. John set the carrier in the front entry and opened the door. The cat took his sweet time coming out, to the point where John was ready to upend the whole carrier to help move him along, and spent several minutes sniffing along the baseboards.

A low growl alerted him to the arrival of Snoopy, whose back arched comically as he eyed the new guy. John held his breath, ready to step in if bloodshed seemed imminent. What happened was that Tribby reached out with one paw and pinned Snoopy to the floor, then proceeded to lick his head in a very thorough fashion.

“So…friends?” John asked hopefully.

*o*o*o*

John woke with a gasp, sweating and disoriented. It was dark; where was the night light? The muscles in his thighs trembled and he realized he was standing, pressed into the corner of a room with his arms up defensively. He slid down to the floor and hugged his knees.

He was getting better, he’d told himself that so many times. The sessions with Dr. Marshall were helping, he needed much less Ativan, but this felt like a step back. He rested his head on his knees and took some deep breaths. His throat ached – had he been screaming? He hoped his neighbors hadn’t heard.

As his heart rate began to slow, John realized he was in the guest room behind the partially open door. He had no memory of getting out of bed, and it was like the first two weeks he’d been on Ambien – waking up in odd places around the apartment he’d been living in, one time even washing the dishes. But he hadn’t taken his sleeping pill; he’d been able to sleep on his own more frequently now, the nightmares tapering off finally.

John pushed himself to his feet and padded back down the hall to his room. He slipped into the bathroom to splash some cold water on his face before curling up in his bed. It was twenty of four in the morning but he knew he’d never get back to sleep now. He felt like he was never going to be normal, the way he was before Afghanistan. 

Tribby jumped up on the bed and draped himself across John’s waist, purring like a rusty engine, all fits and stops. John ran a hand over his fur, a mix of coarse and velvety textures, and blinked the tears of frustration out of his eyes. He passed the time until sunrise petting the cat and running the Fibonacci sequence in his head; there was always comfort in the constancy of numbers.

_0, 1, 1, 2, 3, 5, 8, 13, 21, 34, 55, 89, 144, 233, 377…_

*o*o*o*

Seven weeks after moving into the cottage John had a new routine. Monday mornings he’d drive up to Astoria for a session with Dr. Marshall; he’d gotten comfortable enough to start broaching some of his familial issues, and did a whole lot less crying now. Thursdays he’d have dinner at The Lumberyard, which made a mean burger and also the fish tacos he’d recently become enamored with. Roughly once a week he’d get together with Maggie and Ben, or sometimes just one of them, for dinner or golf or game night. Saturdays he went to the Pig’n Pancake for pecan pancakes and hash browns.

He was actively researching used planes for sale, and whether or not the current economic climate would support him starting a tourism-based business. People in town knew him by name, and he hadn’t had any more embarrassing flashbacks, though he wasn’t done with the random anxiety attacks and occasional bad nights where he’d wake up in another part of the house with no memory of having gotten there. Still, he thought he was at least eighty percent more put together than he had been when he first arrived.

“Back off, cat,” John said absently. He was sitting in the study, bare feet kicked up on the desk while he worked a Sudoku puzzle; Snoopy had a fascination with his toes and he had to keep jerking his feet to keep the stupid cat from gnawing on them.

Rain beat against the windows, as it had for the last two days. As much as John appreciated the sun, he didn’t mind rainy days. Those were sleep-in days, curled up in bed in a nest of blankets, warm and cozy. He hadn’t gotten up that morning until almost ten o’clock, feeling incredibly lazy, and decided to put off home repairs for one more day in favor of doing number puzzles and continuing his quest to finish reading _War and Peace_. Later on he’d get the journal out and reread an entry; it was his way of keeping Rodney close.

“Damnit!” John dropped his feet off the desk, cursing and sending Snoopy running for the hills. It felt like the cat had sunk an entire pointy tooth right through his pinky toe. Sure enough, there was a little dot of blood on the side. He tossed the Sudoku book aside and went into the downstairs bathroom to rinse the abused toe and dab it with a little peroxide – no telling what kind of germs lived in a cat’s mouth.

Since he was up, he decided to fix a cup of hot cocoa, his preferred beverage on a dismal, rainy day. He flipped the light on over the stove and turned the burner on under the teapot. While he waited for the water to boil he opened the cabinet with the mugs and tried to decide which one he wanted to use. There were at least ten different mugs of various color, size and style. Today he chose a dark blue oversized mug with a Star Trek logo on the side, and contemplated throwing on an episode or two of Deep Space Nine to watch while he relaxed. He dumped two packets of cocoa in the mug and wandered over to the windows to look outside.

The rain was coming down in steady sheets, and it was hard to even see the beach; fog on the inside of the window didn’t help either. The teapot started to whistle, but as John was turning back towards the stove something caught his eye. He rubbed at the window with one sleeve and peered out at the porch. Someone was sitting out there on the steps, completely drenched and seemingly not caring. Anxiety pricked along his skin and he wondered who it was; he wasn’t in the habit of having uninvited guests.

The insistent wailing of the teapot grabbed his attention and he hurriedly moved it to one of the other burners with one hand while twisting the knob to the off position with the other. He cast around for some kind of weapon, then remembered the baseball bat in the downstairs closet. He hated taking his eyes off the stranger on the porch, but he couldn’t stand there staring at him all day either. He dashed into the front entry and yanked open the closet door, fumbling for a minute until his hand closed around the smooth wood handle.

John reminded himself that he was trained for combat and that it was foolish of him to be this nervous. It was probably just some person who got turned around in the storm and was waiting it out. Which didn’t explain why they hadn’t knocked on the door and asked for help. Grip tightening on the bat, John opened the front door.

“What are you doing out here?” he called out, needing to raise his voice to be heard over the drumming rain. The hunched shoulders of the person – they were so broad he was sure it was a man – twitched.

“I didn’t have anywhere else to go.”

John lowered the bat. It was definitely a man, and his voice was completely flat and devoid of emotion. 

“You need some help buddy?”

The man got to his feet and turned around. He wore a blue windbreaker, which was plastered to his chest, and black jeans that had soaked through. He ran a hand over his short brown hair, pushing some of the water out. His eyes were blue. _I should’ve guessed they would be_ , John thought distractedly. He couldn’t stop staring, taking in the thinner face and the sorrow etched there in deep lines.

_Please don’t let this be a hallucination_. “Rodney?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **AN:** This bunny came to me while I was cooking dinner. Doesn’t use a lot of brain power to fry up pork chops, apparently. LOL! I was thinking of an SGA fic I read where Rodney was a ghost in John’s new apartment. Then I was thinking about the movie Lake House (Sandra Bullock  & Keanu Reeves, so awesome). So I kind of put those two ideas together and shook them up and this is what came out. Following my brain processes can be a little scary sometimes. ::grins::
> 
> It was supposed to be a one shot, but it just kept growing so I had to split it up. Part two coming soon!


	5. Sight Unseen - Part Two

_“You need some help buddy?”_

_The man got to his feet and turned around. He wore a blue windbreaker, which was plastered to his chest, and black jeans that had soaked through. He ran a hand over his short brown hair, pushing some of the water out. His eyes were blue._ I should’ve guessed they would be, _John thought distractedly. He couldn’t stop staring, taking in the thinner face and the sorrow etched there in deep lines._

Please don’t let this be a hallucination. _“Rodney?”_

*o*o*o*

“I don’t know why I even had them send me here. I guess I didn’t remember…well, it’s not like my name still isn’t on the deed right? Not that I want to make things difficult for you…” Rodney’s mouth had a crooked tilt to it that enhanced his unhappy expression and made John’s chest tighten. 

“Get in here, you’ll catch pneumonia.” He saw now that there was a duffle bag and a laptop case to the side of the door, both still mostly dry. He’d taken care with his things, but not with himself. John grabbed both bags and Rodney’s elbow, pulling them all into the front entryway and kicking the door shut.

He was at a complete loss once he’d gotten Rodney inside. They stood there staring at each other, Rodney dripping all over the floor, and then he sneezed and that propelled John into action.

“Sorry! Let me just…I’ll get you a towel.” John was pretty sure he broke the land speed record to the linen closet and back, a towel in each hand; he thrust both of them at Rodney, relieved that the man hadn’t vanished in the seconds he was gone.

“Thanks.” Rodney did his best to dry off the worst of the water. He toed off his shoes, revealing wet socks, and reached for his duffel. “I’ll just change into something less saturated.”

John stopped himself from giving directions to the bathroom – surely he remembered the way – and tried to think of something else useful to do.

“I just boiled some water. Can I get you tea or hot cocoa or something?”

Rodney sighed. “I don’t suppose you have coffee? Nothing freeze dried, or that comes in a can, preferably. It doesn’t taste right after sitting in aluminum.”

John couldn’t stop the grin that spread across his face. Dr. Rodney McKay, double PhD, was standing in front of him and complaining about coffee; it was surreal.

“I picked up some freshly ground coffee from Bella Espresso a couple days ago. Will that do?”

Rodney looked surprised. “Really? Yeah, that’ll work. Their stuff is okay. Better than that mass-produced crap.” 

“Okay. Well, I’ll get that started while you…” John waved his hand in the general direction of the bathroom, and then made himself walk away first. 

Once he got to the kitchen he had to brace himself against the counter, arms straining, just to keep the shakes out of his hands. He was pretty sure this wasn’t a hallucination, mostly because when he was in a flashback he never recognized it as such and hallucinations probably weren’t all that much different. He had a sudden, desperate need to pick up the phone and call Maggie, but what did he expect her to do? Come riding to his rescue? Prove or disprove Rodney’s existence in his bathroom like he was Schrödinger's cat?

John took several deep breaths until he felt steady enough to make the coffee. He went through the motions automatically while his mind raced. There was one consideration that was especially important, and that was the cottage. Rodney’s name was likely still on the deed, which meant he could probably kick John to the curb any time he wanted. Although the lease was paid through till June, so there might be a way to delay the inevitable.

He honestly didn’t want to leave. He loved the cottage, loved being so close to the ocean. He was trying to make a life here and, sure, he didn’t need to live in this _exact_ house to do it but in the last two months it had become his home. Well, his and Rodney’s. Maybe he could be talked into some kind of roommate arrangement?

“Stupid,” he muttered to himself, and rested his forehead against one of the cabinets. It wasn’t like Rodney knew him, not the way he felt he knew Rodney. Something brushed against his leg and he jerked in surprise, but it was just Tribby. John bent down and picked him up, scratching him under the chin the way he liked the best.

“What do you think buddy? Time for me to look at rental ads?” The cat butted his head against John’s chin. “Thanks for the moral support.”

“You talk to your cat too?” Rodney came through the door, dressed now in gray sweats and a long-sleeved maroon pullover. “I’m glad it’s…it’s not… _Tribby?_ ”

The cat was yanked out of John’s arms with an unhappy yowl. Rodney clutched him close, burying his face in Tribby’s fur. John’s throat tightened at the sight and he wanted nothing more than to throw his arms around both of them and just hold on. He had to remind himself that Tribby, like the house, didn’t belong to him.

“Is this real?” Rodney’s voice was muffled but John could hear the break in it just the same. “How is Tribby here?”

“Miz Wallace couldn’t take care of him anymore.” He didn’t think it was prudent to mention how close to death his cat had been. 

“How can this be real?” Rodney looked up, his blue eyes swimming with tears and uncertainty. “How can this be _real?_ My _house_ is still here, still exactly the same. My _cat_ is here. And I’ve got some _hot guy_ in my kitchen making me coffee. Is this another goddamn hallucination?”

His voice got higher and faster as he went, and he must’ve squeezed Tribby too hard because he growled and squirmed out of Rodney’s grasp. John just gaped at him. Hallucination? _Hot guy?_

“Rodney…”

“See? That’s another thing. How do you know my name? I don’t know you. But here you are in my house, with my cat, with the towels from my damn linen closet.”

“I’m just the guy renting the house,” John said, trying to keep his tone low and soothing. “Name’s John, by the way.”

Rodney laughed, but it was tinged with hysteria and he wiped absently at his mouth. “John? Really? That’s the best you can do? I suppose your last name is Smith.”

“Sheppard, actually. And I’m not a figment of your imagination or anyone else’s.” John poked him in the shoulder. “See?”

“They could touch me the last time, too.” Rodney’s voice had gone soft and sad, his lips trembling. 

John closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath. This was ridiculous. He wondered if this was what he was like in the middle of one of his flashbacks and made a mental note to buy Maggie some jewelry or possibly a new car.

“They gave me everything I wanted,” Rodney continued in that small voice. And then the most amazing change came over him. He straightened up, got a sharp gleam in his eye, and snapped his fingers repeatedly. “That’s it! Proof! Last time I got what I wanted. Okay, think. Something simple. Chocolate cream pie! I want some chocolate cream pie!”

“Uh…okay. I don’t have any pie.”

“Chocolate pudding?”

“Nope.”

“Chocolate ice cream?” Rodney asked, sounding a bit desperate again. “A candy bar? Something?”

“Sorry,” John said with a shrug. There was a brief pause, which involved a lot of mutual staring.

“Not a hallucination?”

“Yours or mine,” he replied with certainty.

“So you just live here. And took back my cat out of the goodness of your heart.”

“Pretty much.”

“I have the worst case of jet lag known to man. Sorry for the…thing. Is that coffee ready yet?” And just like that Rodney shook off whatever crazy fear he’d had and waited expectantly for John to pour him a cup of coffee.

*o*o*o*

“So how long have you lived here?”

Rodney didn’t say _in my house_ but John heard it just the same. They were sitting at the kitchen table with their respective hot beverages and, in a move that left him feeling vaguely embarrassed, John had put out a plate of oatmeal raisin cookies.

“A couple of months.”

“Hmmm. I thought they’d have put my stuff in storage. What if this place got rented to a bunch of hippie artists or something?” Rodney took a bite out of his third cookie. “You’re not one, are you?”

“What? A hippie?” John his grin behind his mug of cocoa. 

“Well, I can plainly see you’re not a hippie. I’m not sure how I’d classify you…surfer maybe? Playboy?”

“Playboy?”

Rodney flapped a hand at him. “So what do you do, then?”

There were a lot of ways that John could answer that and he took a second or two to run through the possibilities. “I’m a pilot.”

That garnered him a look of interest. “Commercial?”

“Actually, I’m going to be starting a charter business.”

“Out of Seaside?” Rodney reached for another cookie. “Yes, I suppose that’s the closest air strip. So are you talking about running people to Portland or doing local tours or what?”

“Local tours mostly.”

“Season’s only what, like three or four months? What about the rest of the time?”

John shrugged. “I’m still working on a business plan.”

Rodney snorted derisively and Snoopy chose that moment to scale John’s pants leg and from his lap venture northward until he was crouched on one shoulder. “Oh, I see it now. You’re a pirate in the off season and that’s your faithful parrot.”

“Snoopy, this is Rodney. Feel free to bite him. Repeatedly.”

“That’s a dog’s name.”

“Says the man who named his cat after a tribble.” John smirked, certain he held the higher ground. Rodney nodded, looking thoughtful.

“NexGen?”

“DS9.”

“Kirk or Picard?”

“Trek reboot Kirk or original series Kirk?”

“Either.”

“Reboot Kirk.”

Rodney grinned, and grabbed the last cookie. “Well, John Sheppard, you might not be a total loss after all, despite your lackadaisical approach towards planning your future. But we can work on that.”

“We can?”

“You’re paid up through June, right? Well, so we have till then to figure your life out. I’m a genius; it won’t take me that long.” Rodney stood up, leaving his dirty dishes on the table. “If you don’t mind I’m gonna go lay down for a while. It’s been a long day and…with the stuff…”

John just nodded, confused by the way the whole conversation had gone. He watched Rodney leave, listened as he made his way up to the spare room. He looked at the empty cookie plate and the crumbs on the table, and wondered what the hell he’d gotten himself into.

*o*o*o*

Rodney didn’t come back downstairs until John had dinner almost ready. He’d tried out a chicken and dumpling recipe, which so far seemed to be turning out okay. The snoring from upstairs had made a surprisingly pleasant backdrop to the rainy evening, and helped reinforce the fact that the events of earlier had in fact happened and John wasn’t having a psychotic break.

“Smells good,” Rodney said, heading for the fridge. His short hair was sticking up on one side and there was a crease in his cheek from the pillow. He grabbed a beer.

“Sleep okay?” John asked politely. He’d decided to be on his best behavior; no sense pissing off the landlord.

“As well as can be expected, I suppose. I’ll need to order a new mattress for that bed; it’s going to kill my back. That was fine when it was for guests, but it’s not good enough for me. Also, I think there’s some kind of animal in the attic.”

“You don’t have to sleep in there. I can move out of the master bedroom and…”

Rodney waved that offer away. “I think we can manage this with the least amount of upheaval for you, don’t you think? Once I have a new mattress that bed will be more than sufficient. Are those dumplings?”

_Least amount of upheaval?_ Just having him in the house was changing everything. For two months he’d been nothing but words on paper and a kind of fuzzy, friendly idea in John’s head, and now he was taking over, making decisions, and what could John possibly say about any of it when it was Rodney’s house?

“Hey, you okay?” Rodney waved a hand in front of his face. “You in there?”

John flinched back, scowling. “Do you mind?”

He was met with an appraising look. “Is all this freaking you out?”

“Hell, yes, it’s freaking me out!” John replied without thinking. “You’re just…here…and it’s…”

He was saved from making a bigger fool of himself when his cell phone started buzzing on the counter. He snatched it up, relieved, and walked over to stand by the kitchen table while Rodney poked at the chicken.

“Sheppard.”

_John? It’s Maggie. Just calling to check up on you._

He was relieved to hear her voice. A little piece of normal in a crazy day. “Hey. You floated away yet?”

_Getting the ark ready as we speak_ , she joked. _You okay? I know weather like this can bring my brother down._

“I’m good. Well, mostly. Maggie…he’s here.”

_Who’s here?_

“Rodney. Rodney’s here. He’s back.” He kept his voice low, hoping the man banging around in the kitchen wouldn’t notice he was being talked about. There was a lengthy silence on the other end of the phone.

_John? Do you want me to come over?_

He could tell she didn’t believe him, and for a moment he was full of doubt again himself. But then Rodney was standing next to him, so real and solid.

“You want me to make a salad?”

_Who is that?_

“It’s Rodney. And sure, if you want to.”

_Rodney. He just showed up out of the blue and now, what? He’s staying with you?_

John could feel a headache building behind his eyes. Why didn’t Maggie believe him? This was different. This was…this was…

“This is unacceptable, Major! Return to base immediately!”

_“I’m not leaving Captain Holland behind, Sir,” John snapped. He looked for a clear spot to land the Apache. He knew his ass would be in a sling when he got back but there was no way he was leaving a member of his team behind. Not when he’d promised they’d all get back home, one way or another._

_When Colonel Haskins continued to yell at him John turned off the radio. He was no stranger to insubordination and knew this would be just another addition to his jacket, but it wouldn’t matter once he got Holland out of the mess he’d gotten himself into. His teammate believed in him and he wasn’t going to let him down._

_“I can do this,” he said to himself. Except that suddenly he wasn’t so sure. He blinked his eyes rapidly against the unexpected rippling of the sand in front of him. The whole landscape started to shimmer and change and he was afraid that he’d crash himself and then who would come for him?_

“…like, okay? Can you hear me, John?”

John closed his eyes on a wave of dizziness and sagged down in the chair; he didn’t remember sitting. His hands were clenched around phantom flight controls and his fingers ached as he relaxed them. Rodney had one hand on his shoulder, squeezing almost too hard, but John was grateful for the anchor.

“John? Are you with me?”

The best he could manage at the moment was a “Yeah” that was more of a sigh than anything else. Rodney kept talking and it took John a minute to realize that he must be on the phone.

“He’s okay. Wow. That sucked. What do I…yeah. Okay. Hold on, I’ll ask him.” Rodney patted John on the shoulder, releasing his vice grip. “You want Maggie to come over?”

John shook his head. Maggie would just fuss and it was enough that he’d embarrassed himself in front of Rodney; he didn’t need a crowd.

“No, he’s fine for right now. Yeah. Yeah. Tomorrow? Yeah, that’ll be fine. Okay, thanks. You too.” Rodney tossed the phone on the table and pulled a chair out to sit next to John. “Is there something you need? Water? Liquor? Pills?” 

John ran a hand over his face and opened his eyes, looking warily at Rodney. “I’m fine.”

“Well, that’s clearly not the case.” But his tone wasn’t mocking or scornful, just quiet. 

They sat in silence for a little while, John clenching and unclenching his hands in his lap. He kept telling himself he was fine; only the second flashback in two months, that was an improvement. _I’m fine. I’m fine_.

“Do you…you know. Take anything?” Rodney asked.

“No. I don’t…no.” He was trying to get off the pills. Originally he’d been on Fluoxetine, Clonidine, and Nefazodone; it was a big deal that he’d backed that all off to Ativan and Ambien. It meant control, and he wasn’t giving that up.

John belatedly remembered that he had food on the stove, and got up to check on it. The chicken mixture had stuck a little to the bottom of the pot, but the dumplings looked fine. His stomach rolled and he fought another wave of dizziness. He shot Rodney an apologetic look.

“I’m sorry. I can’t…I…” He bolted and just made it to the bathroom before he heaved up everything he’d eaten that day. He didn’t think he’d ever felt more miserable.

*o*o*o*

Half an hour later John lay in bed, his stomach empty. He was completely mortified by his behavior in the kitchen. A damned flashback, right in front of Rodney. No doubt he’d changed his mind, probably preferring a hippy artist over a crazy ex-airman. It felt like everything was coming to an end and he was helpless to change any of it.

There was a tentative knock at his door and then Rodney poked his head in the bedroom. “Hey. Uh…can I come in?” He sounded uncertain.

_It’s your house_ , John thought wearily. “Sure.”

The last of the light was fading from the already overcast sky, keeping Rodney’s face mostly unreadable as shadows moved across his skin. He sat on the end of the bed, turned only slightly in John’s direction, and worried at the hem of his shirt.

“I put the chicken away. It was…I liked it.”

“Thanks.” John waited for him to say something else, but silence spun out between them until he found himself getting drowsy. It had been an unbelievably long day, emotionally draining, and he thought he should probably take an Ambien to save himself from further humiliation. He made to turn towards the nightstand when Rodney started talking again.

“Look, I’m…uh…I’m not really good at this. The talking thing.” His expressive hands moved through the air as he gestured, reminding John of the photo from CalTech. “I just…I know what it’s like. Losing people. People you…who counted on you. It’s the worst, most suckiest thing in the history of ever, so I don’t want you to feel like you have to be ashamed…well, not that you’re ashamed, I wouldn’t presume to tell you how you’re feeling…but it’s okay. Okay?”

An automatic denial was on John’s lips – _you have no idea what it’s like!_ – but he could hear it in Rodney’s voice; he knew first-hand somehow. Whatever had happened to him in the last two years, wherever he’d been, he knew. John lay back against his pillows and let out a breath.

“Okay.”

“Really? I mean, good. That’s good.”

There was more silence, but it was comfortable somehow. John grabbed the bottle of Ambien and shook one out into his hand. There was always water on the nightstand, and he used it to wash the pill down.

“What is that?” Rodney asked, sounding suspicious.

“Sleeping pill. Sometimes I…wander.” John blushed. He figured he ought to give the guy some kind of warning, just in case.

“Should I lock my door? Do you have a gun in the house? Because that would be really irresponsible. And to be honest, anyone who comes up with a half-assed plan for flying planes four months out of the year has to be irresponsible.”

Instead of being annoyed John just grinned. “No, I don’t have a gun. I wield a mean baseball bat though.”

“Oh, right. Well, I’ll lock it just in case.” Rodney reached out and patted him clumsily on the calf. “Thanks for letting me stay.”

“It’s your house, Rodney.”

“Yeah, but you could’ve been a big jerk about it. I would’ve.”

“I’m nicer,” John pointed out with a yawn.

“That’s not exactly challenging.” Rodney sounded amused instead of offended. “I guess I’ll let you…you know. Uh, see you in the morning?”

“Sure.” John watched him make his way back to the door, which he closed quietly behind him. That awkward conversation shouldn’t have made him feel any better, but it did. Suddenly things didn’t seem so dire, and he fell asleep with a grin on his face.

*o*o*o*

John woke the following morning to the smell of freshly brewed coffee and bacon. He experienced a moment of disorientation before he remembered that Rodney had come back yesterday, and he surely the one in the kitchen. His hand reached reflexively for the journal, which was tucked into his nightstand drawer, but he left it alone. He had the real thing now, which was so much better than words on paper.

He forced himself out of bed with a groan. The sun was back and streaming through the window, and he narrowed his eyes against it. He took a nice hot shower and by the time he was dressed and on his way downstairs he felt a lot more human. He was almost to the kitchen when he realized he’d been mistaken; Rodney wasn’t the only one puttering around the house that morning.

“…love to listen,” Maggie said. She was scrambling eggs and talking to Rodney over her shoulder. He was sitting at the table, nursing a cup of coffee and looking bleary-eyed.

“I’d always planned on getting one but I just never had the time.”

“Getting one what?” John asked, heading straight for the coffee pot. Maggie was on him in a second, wrapping him in a bear hug and apologizing in his ear.

“I’m sorry! I’m so sorry, John. I should’ve believed you.”

He hugged her back, relieved that she was here. “Flashbacks, not hallucinations. Remember?”

“The eggs’ll dry out,” Rodney said. 

Maggie pressed a wet kiss to John’s temple and turned back to the stove. He poured himself coffee and sat down at the table next to Rodney.

“Getting one what?”

“Piano.”

Oh. He remembered something in the journal – yes, Rodney had gone to Portland to look at pianos but hadn’t found one he liked. By his own admission, he didn’t think he had the right amount of passion when he played, but John was sure that wasn’t the case at all. He’d give anything to hear Rodney play.

“Where would you put it?” He did a mental walk-through of the cottage, shifting furniture around. An upright piano would maybe fit, but nothing fancy like a baby grand. 

“Living room is the logical place.” Rodney took a long swallow of coffee. “I used to think about turning the upstairs guest room into a music room. It’s not like I got a lot of overnight company, you know?”

John could imagine it all too well. Putting together a new plane kit in the study while Rodney’s music drifted down the stairs. It was achingly ordinary and domestic and he flushed when he realized there’d only be one bedroom in that scenario.

Rodney gave him an odd look, but whatever he might’ve been about to say was lost when Maggie set down a plate of bacon, eggs and toast in front of him. “I think I love you.”

Maggie just giggled, and handed John a plate as well. “You should wait till you try my chocolate cake. Then you can love me.”

“You will, too,” John promised.

“Anyone want orange juice?”

John didn’t even think about it, just opened his mouth the same time that Rodney opened his, their words overlapping.

“He’s allergic.”

“I’m allergic.”

There was no escaping that laser-focus now. John turned all his attention to his breakfast, ignoring Rodney’s gaze as Maggie joined them at the table. Scrambled eggs became his whole life, and he thought he should really enjoy them because Rodney was going to ask him soon, ask him about how John knew his name before they even met and how John knew he had a citrus allergy when he’d never mentioned it out loud. He’d have to tell about the journal, which now seemed like an incredible breach of privacy; it would also likely make him seem crazy and he thought he’d already demonstrated that well enough the night before. 

Maggie naturally picked up on the undertones and gave John an intense look with a lot of eyebrow movement that he was pretty sure meant something like _come clean_. He gave a minute shake of his head in response and stared her down. Before the silence became too fraught with things unsaid Maggie favored Rodney with a bright smile.

“We’re so glad to have you back in town, Dr. McKay. I hope you weren’t called away on a family emergency.”

Rodney paused with his fork full of eggs halfway to his mouth, and the look he gave her very clearly said that he wasn’t at all fooled by the transparency of that question. “I was offered a job.”

“Oh?” Maggie waited with an interested look.

“It’s classified,” he said, and filled his mouth with eggs. John, who had been watching as surreptitiously as he knew how, saw the shuttered look on Rodney’s face and the hard glint in his eye. Not that Rodney had been a naïve innocent or anything like that, but now he bore battle scars and just because they weren’t on the outside didn’t mean John couldn’t recognize them. Kindred spirits, even more so now.

“So, John.” Maggie switched her focus, much to his dismay. “Do you need a place to stay while you look for a new rental? Ben and I would be happy to put you up.”

_Should’ve seen that coming_. John looked at Rodney, trying to read a cue from his closed-off expression. He’d made it seem like John was welcome to finish out his lease, but that had been yesterday and anything could’ve changed since then.

“John?” Maggie raised her eyebrows expectantly.

“Yeah, uh…I…”

“We’ve worked out an arrangement,” Rodney said abruptly. He didn’t break eye contact with John. “Sheppard can finish out his lease. In the meantime I’ve moved into the guest room. We’ll be sharing all the household expenses from here on out.”

“You don’t have to…”

“Since we both seem to be between jobs right now we can help each other set some employment goals. Brush up on…uh…resumes or something.”

“Or something,” John echoed weakly. He supposed he should be glad Rodney had a plan. And that he’d been included in it.

Maggie had that narrow-eyed look that John knew meant an interrogation in his future; he resisted the urge to bang his head on the table. So much for the simple life he’d been cultivating. He turned his attention back to his breakfast; he was going to need his strength.

*o*o*o*

John came down the stairs clutching Rodney’s journal to his chest like a security blanket. Maggie had left over an hour ago and his new roommate had quietly helped him clean up before demanding his explanation. He tried not to feel defensive…it was a private journal, but it had belonged to a man two years gone with no expectation of him ever coming back. Surely that had to count for something.

Rodney was in the living room, sitting in one of the two overstuffed arm chairs, his slippered feet propped up on the ottoman. He didn’t comment when John came into the room, though his whole posture telegraphed the eureka moment he had when he saw the journal. John handed it to him and sat down in the other chair.

“It was in a box in the closet. I didn’t think…I shouldn’t have read it. I’m sorry.” He looked down at his hands, listening as Rodney turned the pages. He knew the words there well enough. The funny asides, the random notes, the unwritten longing for human contact that shone through so clearly – he’d put all of himself into every entry.

“You read the whole thing?” Rodney asked quietly.

“Yeah.”

“Anyone else?”

“Not since I’ve been here.” John hazarded a look and could immediately tell that things were bad. There were two spots of color high on Rodney’s cheekbones and his jaw was clenched so tightly that John’s ached in sympathy. There were several moments of silence before Rodney exploded, pushing up out of the chair to pace around the living room.

“Do you have any idea what a violation of privacy this is? Did you even bother to read the first page or did you just skim it for the interesting parts?”

John felt like he was back in grade school and had been called – again – to the principal’s office. He responded as he always did, with stiff posture and a scowl; it didn’t matter that he was in the wrong, that he’d read something so personal without permission.

Rodney continued to pace and wave his arms around. “I mean, I don’t…why the fuck is this even _here?_ It should’ve been in storage. Which by no means excuses you from reading it. You had _no right!_ You…I…give me your keys.”

“ _What?_ ”

“Car keys. Now.” Rodney snapped his fingers three times in succession. “I can’t be here right now and I don’t have a car so give me you’re damned _keys!_ ”

His face was turning an interesting shade of purple and John was afraid to push him any further. “Hanging by the back door.”

Rodney snatched up the journal, pointed one quivering finger in John’s direction, and then stomped into the kitchen. Moments later the front door slammed shut and John managed to keep it together long enough for his Explorer to back out of the garage and drive away. He took the stairs two at a time and fumbled the cap off the Ativan bottle, dry swallowing a pill. He sat on the edge of the bed until his hands stopped shaking and counted it as a win that he’d managed to stay in the here and now.

He wondered when Rodney would be back.

*o*o*o*

“John?”

He startled awake, jerking back in his chair so hard he would’ve toppled over if not for Rodney’s steadying grip on his arm. The study was dark save for the night light; John had fallen asleep in the middle of doing a Sudoku puzzle, but that had been when late afternoon sun was still slanting through the window.

“You okay?” Rodney asked.

“What time is it?”

“Uh…a little after eight.”

John rubbed a hand over his face and stifled a yawn. He couldn’t believe he’d slept so long.

“Did you eat?” Rodney asked, moving back towards the door. “No, I’m sure you didn’t. I brought dinner home with me, come on.”

With a resigned sigh John got up and shuffled after his housemate. He made a quick detour for the bathroom to empty his over-full bladder, and then found himself reluctant to leave. Surely Rodney had re-thought their arrangement in light of the journal; probably dinner was just a sorry-I’m-kicking-you-out gesture.

John flinched when Rodney pounded on the door. “Stop hiding in there like a little girl and come eat.”

_I can do this_ , he thought to himself. _I flew an Apache through a sandstorm; I can face one angry astrophysicist._

Rodney was at the kitchen table with a big box of tacos and burritos from Taco Bell, and two large sodas. John grabbed a handful of napkins and slid into a chair. He waited his turn before pulling a couple tacos from the box; they were cold and a little soggy.

“I filled your gas tank,” Rodney said around a mouthful of burrito.

“Thanks. Where’d you go?”

“Tacoma.”

John ducked his head. Rodney went all the way up to _Tacoma_ to get away from him? Jesus. It was just as bad as he’d thought. He forced himself to eat what was probably his last meal in the cottage and wished it was something better than cold tacos.

“So what branch of military were you?” Rodney took a quick suck on his straw and then answered his own question. “No, wait. Pilot. Air Force, right?”

John just nodded.

“Only child?”

“What?”

Rodney leaned forward, elbows on the table. “Look, I could’ve found all of this out online if I’d brought my laptop with me instead of using a public terminal. But I’m giving you the chance to tell me, even the playing field as it were. You know all about me, but I don’t know anything about you except that you know how to fly a plane, you like Star Trek, and you’re an emotional wreck.”

“Hey!” It was a weak protest. Nothing Rodney had said was untrue, and he’d also given John a glimmer of hope; a level playing field insinuated that they’d still be able to share the cottage, and he wanted that more than anything.

“So are you or are you not an only child? Because you’ve been living here for two months but I haven’t seen a single photograph to indicate that you have a family, or even any friends.”

“I have a brother. He’s a dick.”

“Younger or older?”

“Younger.” John shifted in the chair. It was a little uncomfortable being Rodney’s sole focus; he felt the other man was judging every single facial twitch and body movement, and he didn’t particularly like being exposed that way. He kept reminding himself that he owed Rodney.

“Parents?”

“My mother died when I was a kid. Haven’t talked to my father in…it’s been a long time.”

“Hmm. What happened to you in Afghanistan?”

“Classified,” John replied tersely, hands clenching into fists. Discussing that with Dr. Marshall was one thing, but he couldn’t with Rodney. Or Maggie. Couldn’t throw his failure out there for everyone to see.

“Fair enough,” Rodney said equably. He unwrapped a taco. “Why do you like flying? I can only assume that you do, in fact, like it. I mean, the plane in the study – hey, does that thing actually fly?”

“Yeah. Yeah, she flies like a dream. There’s this F-16 kit I want to get that looks pretty sweet.” 

Rodney raised an eyebrow. “Planning on buzzing the sunbathers?”

“Maybe.” John couldn’t help chuckling, picturing that in his head.

“What do you like best about flying?” Rodney asked softly.

John answered without thinking. “It’s like nothing can touch me up there. I can leave everything behind, even if it’s just for a little while.”

“Hmmm.”

He blinked, and looked down at the remains of the taco on his plate. He couldn’t believe he’d just said that; he sounded ridiculous. It was one thing to answer generic questions about things that didn’t matter, but he’d revealed too much of himself with that last one. He scowled; he loved the cottage but he wasn’t about to pimp himself out for it.

“You know what, I’m gonna…”

“Will you fly it for me?” Rodney interrupted. “The model plane, I mean. You know, I bet I could help you tweak it. More speed, better aerodynamics. Actually, I wouldn’t mind getting one of those kits for myself, be involved in the process from the ground up. Where’d you get it from?”

John wondered if he could get whiplash from the speed with which Rodney could turn a conversation. “Uh…I ordered it online.”

“Sure. Yeah. I could improve the drag coefficient…hmmm…mass density…” He began mumbling to himself and using his finger to draw equations on the table.

“I’ll just put the rest of this in the fridge.”

“Huh.” Rodney flapped a hand at him. Clearly the joint portion of the conversation was over.

John closed the box and stuffed it into the refrigerator. He paused on his way out of the room, watching Rodney hunched over the table working equations in his head. He was annoying and frustrating and bossy; John was glad he’d come back.

*o*o*o*

They spent the next two days tracking down Rodney’s things, including his black Prius and an inordinate amount of computer equipment; now John knew why he’d needed such a large desk. There were boxes full of academic journals, Rodney’s personal journals documenting his work, an extensive sci-fi DVD collection, and pictures of Rodney with various scientific and political dignitaries as he accepted awards and academic appointments.

Rodney’s new mattress was delivered, and he dragged John to Portland for the day to pick out all new bedding for both beds, a new cell phone, and a digital camera. Each transaction seemed to take forever as Rodney haggled over the price and spent time assessing thread counts and megapixels and the benefits of 4G.

John tried to be patient, though shopping wasn’t his favorite thing. He didn’t care about bedding, except to lament the fact that grownups couldn’t get fun Superman sheets like kids could.

“I could get them if you want,” Rodney said in an offhand manner. “I’m sure there’s an online store that carries that kind of thing.”

“I wasn’t serious.”

“Whatever. You’ll have to make do with the brown stripes, unless you think the lack of cartoon characters will negatively impact your sex life.”

“Brown stripes is fine,” John replied hastily. The last thing he wanted to talk about with Rodney was his sex life. Or lack thereof.

It wasn’t any better shopping for a new phone. Rodney had to look at everything, making judgments on operating systems, network availability, and which one offered the best bells and whistles. When he finally settled on a Droid he started haggling on a price, demanding a deal because he was buying two.

“Why do you need two phones?” John asked, checking out some apps on an iPhone.

“I don’t. I’m replacing that piece of crap you have.”

“What? No.”

Rodney just ignored him. “What kind of case can I get for them? I need something sturdy. Does that come in black?”

“Rodney…”

“Look, Sheppard. Your phone is little better than a paperweight. Give it to the nice lady behind the counter and she’ll transfer all your contact information to the new one.”

“No.” John was beholden enough to Rodney, he didn’t need to add to it. And yeah, a snappy new phone would probably be cool but it wasn’t like he used the one he already had all that much; Maggie was the only one he called.

“Don’t be petulant, it’s not a good look for you. Come on, hand it over. And then we can get something to eat before my blood sugar gets too low.” Rodney snapped his finger and held out his hands. John scowled but handed over his phone; he knew when he was fighting a lost cause and he had no desire to be verbally assaulted in the middle of the Verizon store. The woman behind the counter just smirked.

Half an hour later he had a new, more cost-effective calling plan and a fancy Droid that would probably take him weeks to figure out. Rodney messed around with it while John drove to the Portland City Grill, and by the time he’d parked Rodney was excitedly showing him a flight simulator app he’d added that was actually pretty cool.

“See? Way better than the old phone.”

“The old phone was fine,” John contradicted, but it was hard to keep the grin off his face as he tilted the phone in the direction he wanted the plane to go. Rodney just gave him a smug look and led the way inside.

Over Molsons and burgers gooey with Tillamook cheese Rodney and John discussed the division of labor that would be put into effect at the cottage. Rodney offered to do all dish washing and kitchen maintenance, claiming that it was the kind of brainless activity that let his mind focus on more complex problems. John offered to take over laundry detail, and they would share all cat-related chores, cooking and yard work. They both had some ideas for sprucing up the yard, and a promise was made to consider purchasing a lawnmower.

“We’ll just hire someone to clean the rest of the house once a week,” Rodney said, waving the waitress over for another beer.

“That’s a waste of money.” John pushed his pickle around the plate. “I’ve been keeping up with it without any problems. I don’t mind doing it.”

“If you don’t mind, I guess we can put that decision off. Once you start getting your business up and running, though, you’ll be glad to have a service to take care of things like that. We can talk about it then, I suppose. Are you getting dessert?”

John just stared at him.

Rodney glared back at him and sounded defensive when he said, “What? I just need a little something sweet after all that grease.”

John just shook his head, and cast his eyes at a random point beyond Rodney’s shoulder while Rodney grilled the waitress about which desserts might contain citrus. The plan as he understood it was that he could stay at the cottage until June and then he’d have to find his own place. Rodney had indicated that he would help set up a business plan for the tourist charters, but now it seemed like maybe he was planning on John sticking around after his cut-off date. Or maybe he was just making more of it than it was. Probably he’d do something tomorrow to piss Rodney off and then it wouldn’t matter anyway.

“Earth to John. Are you ready?” Rodney waved a hand in front of his face and John jerked back, startled out of his thoughts.

“I thought…no dessert?”

“Can’t trust that their citrus desserts haven’t contaminated the rest. I’ll grab a candy bar or something on the ride home. Let’s go, I still want to look at cameras today.” He tossed a handful of cash on the table, enough to cover the meal and a generous tip, and practically pushed John out the door.

Rodney chatted all the way to Bridgeport Village about how important it was to take pictures and document the everyday things. “You don’t realize how much you’re going to miss something, or…or some _one_ , until it’s too late and at least pictures help you remember, right?”

John just nodded, but he could detect a tone in Rodney’s voice that seemed almost melancholy; again, he wondered what had happened to the man in the last two years.

Instead of the mall he’d been expecting, Bridgeport Village turned out to be an outlet center, with all of the stores having outside access along pedestrian walkways. He parked in the lot near The Container Store and raised his eyebrows at some of the names he saw on storefronts; these were high-end businesses.

“What the hell are we doing here?”

Rodney frowned at him. “There’s a Ritz Camera outlet here, so I should be able to get a quality camera on the cheap. Don’t be a snob.”

“I’m not a snob,” John protested. He got out of the truck and followed Rodney, who seemed to know exactly where he was going. The Village was doing a brisk business for a Sunday and the walkways were full of people. John’s skin began to itch, just a little, as they wandered past a jewelry store and a New Balance outlet. Ritz Camera was squeezed in between Coldwater Creek and Barnes & Noble.

The next forty five minutes were spent listening to Rodney asking increasingly complex questions about camera functions while John stayed near the door getting more and more agitated. It had been such a normal day but now it was like he’d reached his limit and there was nothing he could do. There were too many people here, the spaces too tight, the store too pressing with its shelves of cameras and photo albums and tripods and bags. He took deep breaths, or tried to, and visualized a Ferris wheel; that was his happy place, riding high atop the big wheel, as close to the sky as he could get without a plane.

_Wide open spaces. Blue skies. Nothing up here but me. No reason to freak out. No reason for my chest to feel so tight._

“John?” Rodney was suddenly at his side, hand on his shoulder. “You okay?”

“Can’t…breathe.”

“Oh, no. Where are your pills?” He began clumsily patting John down. “Didn’t you bring your pills?”

John shook his head. He had to get out of there and he tried to get past Rodney to reach the door, but he was pushed back into the corner.

“Hey, whoa there. Tell me what to do. Sheppard!”

“Out. I…outside.”

“Right. Okay.” Rodney dragged him out the door, shouting to the clerk over his shoulder to hold on to the camera, he’d be back. When John cringed away from a loud group of women passing by Rodney pulled him off the pedestrian walk and into the closest parking lot, which was right behind Anthropologie. 

“Sit down.” He pushed on John’s shoulder, forcing him down. John sat, knees drawn up, and closed his eyes.

_Wide open spaces. Blue skies. Nothing up here but me._

“Why the hell did you leave your pills at home? Are you stupid? No, I’m stupid. I should’ve realized the crowds here would be too much. It’s not like Cannon Beach.”

_Nothing up here but me and Rodney._

“That’s it, Sheppard. Just keeping taking deep breaths.” Rodney sat next to him, their shoulders pressed together. “I’m really not cut out for this kind of thing, you know. I don’t understand people…biology, I mean…at all. I wish Carson was here. He’d know what to do. Or, I don’t know – maybe next time you should just _bring your damn pills_. This is like me going out without an EpiPen. Do you have a death wish or something? Can you die from an anxiety attack?”

“You talk a lot,” John said, finally getting his breath back. There was something comforting about the way Rodney could ramble on about anything.

“I know. You okay now?”

“I’ll survive.” He blinked his eyes open and pushed at Rodney with his shoulder. “You done here?”

“I just need to grab the camera. Meet you at the car?”

“Sure.” John got to his feet and gave Rodney a hand up. “Sorry for…that.”

Rodney scowled at him. “The only thing you should be apologizing for is forgetting your pills. You don’t…I understand about… _camera_. Gotta get the camera.”

They parted company, Rodney red in the face and John feeling surprisingly good. It was the first time he hadn’t felt like a complete freak after having a meltdown in public. How much of that was Rodney and how much was because he was making progress with therapy was anyone’s guess.

One thing was certain – he was going to have plenty to talk to Dr. Marshall about during tomorrow’s visit.

*o*o*o*

Rodney was still sleeping when John was ready to head out for his therapy appointment, and he wasn’t sure if he should leave a note or not. Would Rodney remember that Mondays were his Dr. Marshall days? Would he even care? He stood in the kitchen, indecisive for a good five minutes before digging in the junk drawer for paper and a pen. He scrawled a hasty message on the back of a receipt and stuck it to the fridge with a magnet shaped like Oregon.

It was only a forty mile drive from Cannon Beach to Astoria and John tried to use that time to figure out what the deal was with Rodney. He was by turns rude, bossy, skittish, sympathetic and enigmatic. John wanted to know more about him, particularly the events of the last two years that had left him seemingly so lost. Beyond that, he wanted to see if the reality of Rodney could live up to the fantasy of the man he’d created in his head, crafted out of the words in the journal and inane notes in the margins of books.

By the time he got to Dr. Marshall’s office he was no closer to coming up with a plan. He wanted to do something for Rodney, though, as a way to say thank you. So while he sat in the waiting room he used his new phone to look up camera straps for Rodney’s fancy new digital camera. He’d picked a good-sized Canon after a lengthy rant about how the little point and shoots didn’t give him anything to grip and how easy it would be to drop one. By the time John had found the perfect strap and set up an account for himself on Amazon, it was time for his session.

Dr. Marshall hadn’t been what John was expecting in a therapist. There were no tweed coats, no horn-rimmed glasses or carefully sculpted goatee. Instead there were polo shirts and Converse sneakers and tattoos, which probably went a long way to explaining why John felt so comfortable with him.

“Good to see you, John. Have a seat.” 

He did as directed, sinking into one of the sinfully comfortable leather chairs that were used for single sessions; there was a long couch for couples or larger groups and John had often thought he might like to lay down on that while he talked, though he’d never asked.

“So, how have things been going?” Dr. Marshall sat opposite him and set his digital recorder on the low table that was between them. The sleeves of his shirt were rucked up, showing the bottom half of a tiger on one arm, the tail curling around his wrist.

“One flashback, one anxiety attack, and, oh yeah. Rodney’s back.”

The therapist’s eyes widened. “No kidding! That must be shaking things up for you.”

John nodded. “It’s been…weird.”

“Would you care to elaborate on that a bit? How is this impacting your day to day life?”

“He’s moved into the spare room. Says I can stay until my lease expires, even after…”

“After?”

John sighed. “I had to tell him about the journal. And he was mad. Really mad. He left for the day, I didn’t know where he was, but then he came back and still seems like he’s not going to kick me out. I don’t know why.”

“Is he understanding of your condition?”

“Yeah, actually. He talked me down from an anxiety attack yesterday.”

“And how did you feel about that?” Dr. Marshall asked.

“Surprisingly okay. I mean, I hate having them but…it was better not having to deal with strangers, you know?”

“Ah, but John. He _is_ a stranger. Don’t confuse the Rodney from the journal with the one that’s living in your house; you’ll be dealing with unrealistic expectations and that won’t be fair to either of you.”

John couldn’t argue with that, not when he’d been thinking the same thing on his drive in. He knew that Rodney had two years of experiences that changed the person he was when he wrote that journal; he couldn’t be the same, no-one could, because people were constantly changing. He knew that, he did.

“I wish he could be the same,” he said, looking down at his hands. “I’d gotten used to him being that way, you know?”

“Consider this,” Dr. Marshall said, leaning forward. “He’s letting you stay. He’s giving you the chance to get to know him properly this time. Don’t spend so much time wishing for what you had, or you’ll miss the chance at something better. Something real.”

“I’ll try,” John promised.

“Now, tell me about the flashback and what precipitated it.”

*o*o*o*

As always, John’s therapy session left him feeling drained and a little husked out. He was feeling pretty good about Dr. Marshall, though. The man had believed him about Rodney without requiring outside corroboration and that meant a lot.

It was still fairly early, so he stopped by the bakery on his way back to Cannon Beach and picked up an assortment of pastries. So far it looked like it might be a nice day and John thought maybe he’d let Rodney fly the Beechcraft today, see what ideas he had for performance enhancement.

The cottage was quiet when he got back, and he wondered if his housemate was still sleeping. He kicked off his sneakers by the front door, put the box of pastries on the kitchen counter and scooped some food into the cat dish, which brought both Tribby and Snoopy running. John glanced at the clock; it was almost eleven thirty and he wondered if he should wake Rodney. In the few days they’d lived together he’d never known the man to sleep much past eight or eight-thirty.

Uncertain again, he padded up the stairs and stood in front of the door to the spare room. His internal debate was cut short when he heard the unmistakable sound of crying coming from behind the door. He froze in place, feeling guilty at having caught Rodney in a moment of weakness. John reached for the doorknob and then pulled his hand back. Would he be welcome if he barged in right now? He knew what it felt like when someone saw him trapped in a flashback, how mortifying it was. But then he remembered how nice it had been yesterday having Rodney there to help ease him out of the anxiety attack.

Steeling his spine, John gave the door a perfunctory knock before opening it and walking in. Rodney was sitting on the floor between the bed and the wall, his knees drawn up and curled in on himself, big hands covering his face. He was clearly trying to stop the sobs that were ripping out of his throat, but it was obvious to John that he was losing the battle. Seeing Rodney hurting so badly gave him a sympathetic ache in his chest.

“Hey, buddy.” He sat down next to Rodney so that they were touching from hip to shoulder; he could feel the other man’s violent tremors as if they were his own. 

There was a piece of paper on the floor and John picked it up; not paper but a photo that had fallen upside down. It was a picture of Rodney with four other people in a lab of some kind; they all wore bi-colored uniforms that had patches on them he couldn’t make out. Rodney was on the far left, looking stern, but the other four were all smiles. One of the men had hair that looked as if it had been styled using electric shock, and the only woman was Asian and almost laughably tiny behind ridiculously large glasses.

Rodney snatched it out of John’s hand and held it to his chest, arms crossed over it protectively. “Don’t touch that!”

His face was a mess, red and splotchy and wet from tears and snot. It made John just want to hold him close and rock him until he felt better. Which was crazy.

“Co-workers?” he asked softly. 

“Don’t,” Rodney said, but the vehemence of a moment ago had left and now he just sounded tired and small.

John decided to change the subject. “It’s really nice out today. I thought we might take the plane out. You could see how she handles, maybe scare some unsuspecting tourists.”

The trembling next to him seemed to ease a bit, and Rodney reached out to fumble on the nightstand for the box of tissues there. Taking a page from the McKay playbook John just kept talking.

“Oh, and I brought pastries for breakfast. There’s a pretty nice bakery in Astoria, The Blue Scorcher. It’s all organic. And they come to the farmer’s market here pretty often, too.”

“Pastries?” Rodney asked. He blew his nose and mopped at his face with a handful of tissues. There was still a hitch in his voice but he seemed to be getting himself under control.

“Yup. Fairy cakes and chocolate croissants, and the best cinnamon buns you’ll ever have. Guaranteed. And yes, I made sure not a crumb of citrus came near them.”

Rodney still wouldn’t look at him, but the trembling had finally stopped. The photograph was carefully laid on the nightstand next to the tissues. 

“So I was thinking,” John continued. “That we just take the whole day off. No more unpacking or planning our futures. We’ll eat fattening foods and play with the plane and watch a movie or something. Maybe you can try out that fancy new camera of yours.”

“We…” Rodney paused to clear his throat. “We need to go grocery shopping.”

“Tomorrow. We have plenty enough to get by on for one day.” When it became clear that his housemate still wasn’t quite ready to get moving John decided to give him something personal, another little bit of himself to make up for reading the journal.

“When I was ten I wanted to learn to play the guitar. One of my friends had an older brother that played and he could just shred on that thing, it was so awesome. My dad wouldn’t let me. I was supposed to take over the family business and businessmen didn’t play instruments, they played sports. I was mad at him for a long time because of that. And I refused to play football or baseball, the two sports he thought were appropriate.”

“So what did you do?” And finally Rodney was looking at him, still a bit red in the face but clearly interested.

“I did track, ran cross country. And got guitar lessons on the sly.” 

They grinned at each other, and then John levered himself up and gave Rodney a hand.

“I’ll bet you’re pretty good at both.”

John shrugged. “Passable. Couldn’t run fast enough, so I had to learn to fly.” It was meant as a joke, but the look in Rodney’s eyes assured him it wasn’t taken that way.

“I probably should’ve mentioned this days ago,” Rodney said a little shyly. “But I’m kind of an emotional wreck myself.”

“Join the club.” John clapped him on the shoulder. “We’ll get t-shirts.”

*o*o*o*

The day had started out so well. After gorging themselves on pastries, John and Rodney had taken the remote controlled plane outside and took turns flying it. As expected, Rodney had filled up several sheets of paper with equations and drawings and plans for their next plane, and John was feeling that maybe the real thing wasn’t so bad after all.

But then the clouds had moved in, rain started to fall, and they’d retreated indoors. Rodney put on the original Star Wars trilogy and popped some popcorn. They settled in on the couch together, and got through three quarters of the first movie before the thunderstorm started. John forced himself to sit still, to ignore the itching on his skin. The worse the storm got, the tenser John got until he’d lost the thread of the movie and started counting the time between lightning flashes and thunder rumbles.

“Oh, for the love of…just go take your damn pills!” Rodney rolled his eyes and gave John a shove, which about made him jump out of his skin. “Seriously, you’re wound up tighter than…something tight. Go!”

John grimaced but felt relieved nonetheless as he fairly rocketed off the couch and up the stairs. He knew it was foolish, knew he didn’t have to pretend he was fine for Rodney, but he couldn’t help feeling a little unmanned by the continued weakness of his mind. Although, considering that Rodney had spent the morning crying like a little kid he supposed it was all relative.

He’d just had his Ativan with a water chaser when there was a particularly blinding flash of lightning followed immediately by a crack of thunder so loud it rattled the windows, and the lights went out. The bedroom was immediately plunged into darkness that flashed intermittently with the lightning, creating an unsettling strobe effect.

John was immediately gripped with fear, but none of it was for himself. “Rodney!” He dashed towards the door, careening painfully off the wall as he did so, and out into the hall. He felt with absolute certainty that Rodney was in danger and needed to be secured; what that danger was hardly seemed relevant, though a part of him was vaguely cognizant that this wasn’t rational behavior.

The storm was raging overhead, the combination of pounding rain, howling wind and cracking thunder making it impossible to hear anything else. John hugged the wall, keeping to the shadows as much as possible between lightning flashes. His heart was racing and he kept reaching for a weapon that wasn’t there.

Another flash revealed someone at the top of the stairs not two feet away. As soon as the darkness returned John made his move, going in for a tackle. He hooked the target around the waist, pulling him down and away from the stairs. They rolled once, enough for John to straddle the target, knees pinning his arms to the floor. More lightning and he found himself looking down at Rodney, his blue eyes wide and startled and filled with fear.

“John?”

John clapped his hand over Rodney’s mouth with a hiss. As quickly as he’d taken him down he got him back up and immediately moved him backwards into the master bedroom. He locked the door as soon as they were inside, pushed Rodney down on the bed, and manhandled the extra nightstand in front of the door; it wasn’t much, but in the time it took to move it out of the way he and Rodney could be out the window in the master bathroom and out onto the porch roof.

“Sheppard! What are you doing?”

“Stay down, Rodney!” John slipped back to the bed and dragged Rodney off it so they were both sitting on the floor beside it, near the bathroom door.

“Okay. You know my name, so not a flashback. Why the hell didn’t you take your pill earlier? _Imbecile_. You have taken it now, right? I hope like hell you did, because I can’t wrangle a crazy Sheppard right now.” Rodney’s voice, which had already become so welcomingly familiar, was threaded through with fear. That, more than anything, helped push back the formless panic that was beating at John’s breast, because Rodney was afraid of _him_ and that was all kinds of wrong.

“Maybe this was a mistake,” he prattled on, increasingly agitated. “It’s not fair for both of us to be this messed up, there’s no-one to be in charge. I need…someone needs to be in charge and it can’t be me. Sheppard? Are you in there or am I just talking to myself?”

John forced himself to open his mouth and say something not-crazy. “Don’t leave.” Which, okay, wasn’t crazy, but pathetic wasn’t quite what he was going for either.

Rodney let out an explosive breath. “Geez. You need to stop getting lost in your head. And stay medicated. We’re so not doing this again.”

Silence stretched out between them after that. The storm moved on, the onslaught from Mother Nature less of a pounding force, and they settled more comfortably there on the floor. John rocked his right foot back and forth on the heel, his nerves showing. But the Ativan was finally starting to work and it took the phantom anxiety with it. Rodney grabbed one of the pillows off the bed and hugged it to his chest.

John knew he had to man up, do the right thing here. He didn’t want to leave, but he obviously couldn’t stay; Rodney was right, he was too high maintenance and that wasn’t fair for anyone. Best for him to just be on his own again. He wondered if he could leave Snoopy here, since he seemed to be getting on with Tribby so well. Would that count as abandonment?

“Hey.” Rodney bumped him with his shoulder. “You okay?”

“I’ll go,” John said quietly, watching his foot move. There was less lightning and he was glad to have the dark to hide in. “You’re right.”

“No! I mean…forget what I said. I was just…it didn’t…it’s really not a good idea for me to be alone right now.”

“Rodney.”

“They’re dead,” Rodney replied, and there was a tremor in his voice. “The people in the picture. They’re all dead, except me.”

There was nothing he could say to that, so John kept his mouth shut. But he shifted closer, pressing up against Rodney like he’d done that morning; offering what little comfort he could.

“They said I have survivor guilt. Ridiculous. Why should I feel guilty about being alive? I was the Chief Science Officer, the smartest man they had; my survival was essential to the mission.”

It should have sounded cold and incredibly heartless, but John could hear it for what it was – Rodney was trying to convince himself he felt that way, when it was obvious he didn’t. Those people meant something to him, even if he wouldn’t admit it.

“Tell me their names?” John asked. There was power in names, he’d learned that well enough himself in therapy. He didn’t know if it would help Rodney, but he was certain it wouldn’t hurt him any worse than he was already hurting.

“David,” Rodney whispered, and the pain in his voice had John reaching for his hand. “Miko. Peter. Radek.”

He stumbled over the last name, and John wondered if that was the one he’d been closest to. The man who’d written how bad he was at making friends had made them just the same, and then lost them. He didn’t know what kind of hot zone they’d been in, but he understood the pain of that kind of loss all too well. Without any conscious thought he wrapped his fingers around Rodney’s and held on as tightly as he could.

“They were good people. Friends. And I couldn’t do anything to save them. I was the smartest man on the expedition and nothing I did mattered.” There were definitely tears now. John shifted again so he could rest his head on Rodney’s shoulder.

“Is that why you came back?”

“What? Oh. No, that’s not why. The mission was a failure, they said.” Rodney pulled in a deep, shuddery breath. “Thing is, it wouldn’t have been. If we’d had the right personnel it could’ve been amazing. But it was fucked right from the start. So many dead…and I’m back here like nothing happened, like the last two years were nothing and that’s all they’ll ever be except for the people who were there. No-one else will know the things we found, the things we saw. Beautiful things. Horrifying things. I did things…I can’t ever take back.”

The words drifted to a stop, as if he were exhausted by the end of it. And maybe he was. There was a prickly, hot ball of anger in John’s gut; what the hell had they been thinking, to send Rodney into the middle of some doomed mission where people were dying? It wasn’t right. He hadn’t said, exactly, but John was almost sure Rodney’d had to take lives; it was unavoidable in a war zone, even for an astrophysicist who’d adamantly refused to build weapons.

“I’m glad you survived,” he said softly, and he was almost sure he felt Rodney press a feather-light kiss to the top of his head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **AN:** The return of Rodney! Misery loves company, they say, and these two are certainly going through their own miseries. At least now they have each other. Can they co-exist together in the cottage or are their individual emotional issues just too much to overcome? Stay tuned for part three! (It’s the fic that just won’t end! LOL!)


	6. Sight Unseen - Part Three

_“I’m glad you survived,” he said softly, and he was almost sure he felt Rodney press a feather-light kiss to the top of his head._

*o*o*o*

Things could’ve been awkward the next day but somehow they weren’t. Rodney made a frittata for breakfast that wasn’t half bad, and then dragged John out to go grocery shopping. They went to the Safeway up in Seaside because it had a Starbucks, which of course was Rodney’s first stop. Once they started the actual shopping, John quickly realized the only thing he was expected to do was push the cart.

Rodney was a very methodical shopper. They started in produce and went aisle by aisle, and he read every food label very carefully for the barest hint of citrus in the ingredients. John expected to be irritated and antsy within the first twenty minutes, but he found he didn’t mind the slow pace or Rodney’s attention to detail.

“We should get some corned beef hash,” he suggested, interrupting an avid contemplation of a can of baked beans.

“Hash? Are you joking?” Rodney looked at him as if he’d grown an extra head. “Why not just get a can of dog food, for God’s sake? You’re not cooking any of that in my kitchen.”

“Hey, it’s my kitchen too. Until June, at least.”

“Sorry. I’m invoking landlord’s veto. No hash.”

“Then I’m gonna want extra snack cakes.”

Rodney rolled his eyes. “Yes, okay. You be five years old and get your snack cakes.”

John considered it a win and smirked. Turned out Rodney was fun to shop with if you knew what to say to wind him up. They argued over cuts of meat, fresh mushrooms versus canned, brands of toilet paper, and what types of juice were safe to have in the fridge. John played at the unfairness of not being able to have OJ just because Rodney was allergic, though the truth of it was that he’d already decided he could live without it.

They were in the cereal aisle when Rodney had his epiphany, which at first looked to John like an aneurysm. He stood there with a box of Frosted Mini Wheats in one hand, fingers of the other hand snapping rapidly, all while his mouth gaped open like a landed trout.

“Rodney? Rodney!”

He jerked and then looked at John with a big grin on his face. “That’s it! I know exactly what you should do in the off season!”

John waited, but Rodney just continued to stand there and look at him expectantly. “Well, for those of us without the genius IQ or the ability to read minds, a clue would be nice.”

“I’m sure you’d have thought of it eventually on your own,” Rodney said equably. “Because it’s obvious. Flight school!”

“I already know how to fly.”

“You know, just when I think you’ve got an ounce of intelligence underneath all that hair you disappoint me, Sheppard.” Rodney shook his head sadly. “You could _teach_ flight school. Surely there are people who pay for that kind of thing. You can…I don’t know…make them love it too.”

John stared at him, unexpectedly moved by the sentiment. And intrigued by the idea. “We’d have to look it up, find out what’s involved. I know I have the flight time.”

“I can only presume you have the skill,” Rodney said with a crooked grin.

“I can fly anything.”

“Well, for right now fly that shopping cart and let’s get this done.”

The Mini Wheats were tossed into the cart and they went a bit quicker through the remaining aisles. John very nicely didn’t comment on all the chocolate bars Rodney picked out, and so he didn’t feel guilty about the corn dogs. All the attention that had been paid to labels fled when it was time to pack the bags, and so John took that over and made sure everything was organized just so.

“Must be the military training,” Rodney commented.

“Nope. I just have hidden depths.”

“I don’t doubt that in the least.”

*o*o*o*

Despite a rocky start, life with Rodney soon settled into a comfortable routine. They took turns fixing breakfast in the morning, and Rodney insisted that Mondays were pastry days, which meant a stop at the bakery after John’s therapy session. John had his Saturday breakfast at Pig’n Pancake, with Rodney happy to tag along, but regular get-togethers with Maggie and Ben had been put on hold for the time being; John and Rodney needed to work on their own dynamic before adding other people to it.

They slowly started to acclimate to sharing the cottage, which was mostly about learning how to stay out of each other’s way. When Rodney retreated to the study he didn’t like being disturbed for any reason other than a major catastrophe or health emergency, though John was pretty sure that his frequent forays to the kitchen for coffee were more about making sure his housemate’s mental health was still mostly stable and less about the need for caffeine.

For his part, John tried to keep snacks available because he noticed that when Rodney got heavily involved in a project he’d forget things like eating and drinking, and John was afraid he’d go into hypoglycemic shock; he’d researched it online to know what symptoms to look for. It explained the coffee tin full of Skittles in the garage, which was probably there in case of a low blood sugar emergency. He found he could unobtrusively slip into the study around lunch time and slide a plate of food onto the desk without Rodney even looking up as he typed away with frenetic speed.

John was glad to have someone to take care of, however much Rodney probably didn’t need it. It was a nice distraction from all the noise in his head, and part of him felt that if he was able to keep Dr. Rodney McKay alive and functioning then there was hope for him after all. He had the sneaking suspicion that Rodney probably felt the same way about him.

It was late afternoon, about a week after his thunderstorm-induced freak-out, and John was spending it in the living room with his guitar. He wasn’t playing any particular song, just strumming random cords and fiddling with the tuning keys to get the sound right. He’d needed a break from writing in his journal, something new that Dr. Marshall had him doing. He was supposed to write down his experiences in Afghanistan, in whatever method worked; he’d found it easier to just write down whatever popped into his head rather than try a linear retelling. The whole process was hard, particularly because he wasn’t much of a writer, and he needed to step away from it frequently just to keep from getting frustrated.

Rodney poked his head in, taking his own break and checking in. “Can you actually play anything on that, or do you just dabble?”

John gave him a contemplative look before waving him into the empty chair. He plugged in the portable amp, and took the strings through one more sound check. He could’ve played any of the numerous songs he knew, but he wanted to show off a little and so he settled for Malagueña because of the intricate finger work involved.

It didn’t take long for John to forget Rodney was even in the room. He closed his eyes and rode the notes like a wave, almost holding his breath through the quickest sections. By the time he reached the end of the song his fingers were throbbing – he hadn’t played that particular piece in a long time, and he was still building up callouses. He blinked his eyes open to find Rodney staring at him with the oddest expression on his face.

“I’m out of practice,” he said apologetically.

“That was…you’re… _wow_.”

John felt himself flushing and ducked his head. He switched off the amp and ran his palm over the strings, making them whisper-whine.

“You’re a complex guy.” Rodney sounded awestruck, but maybe John was just reading him wrong. “I’m…the way you looked…”

The moment was quickly turning awkward and John wasn’t sure why, but he was relieved when a knock on the front door provided a distraction. Rodney waved him off and got up to answer it. John put the guitar back in the case and wrapped up the cord for the amp.

“Package,” Rodney said when he came back in. He tossed it to John, who looked at the return address and then tossed it back.

“It’s for you.”

“What?”

“I got it for you,” John said with a shrug. “It’s nothing big.”

Rodney gave him a suspicious look. “You bought me something? Why? What is it?”

“Just open it, McKay.” John pulled a pocket knife out of his pocket and tossed it to Rodney, who dropped the package to catch it. He scowled and sat down, using his foot to drag the package close enough for him to pick up. He flipped the knife open and sliced through the top of the padded envelope. John watched nervously, not sure how his gift would be received.

Rodney slid the camera strap out of the package and unrolled it. It looked even better than it had online – black fabric with a repetitive stars and planets design; embroidered down the length of it in metallic blue was _To Boldly Go_. He just stared at it, quiet so long that John started to fidget in his seat.

“Look, it’s just something silly, okay? You don’t have to use it.”

Rodney ran one hand over the words and didn’t look up when he spoke. “People don’t usually give me gifts. I generally don’t inspire that kind of thoughtfulness.”

Something twisted in John’s chest at the tone of Rodney’s voice – it was like he felt he wasn’t worthy of the gesture. Had no-one ever taken the time to get to know him, to see the kind-hearted man beneath the prickly exterior? John reached over and put his hand on Rodney’s knee.

“I just wanted to thank you. For letting me stay here. And helping with…you know. My _stuff_.”

Rodney finally looked up at him, his eyes bright and his mouth quivering just a little. They stared at each other for a long minute, John hyper-aware that he was still touching the other man.

“I have to get back to work,” Rodney said. He handed back the pocket knife and clutched the camera strap to his chest. “I really…this is great. Thank you.”

John watched him hurry back to the study and heard the door close with a decisive thud. He ran a hand through his unruly hair and sighed; Rodney was right, they were both way too messed up.

*o*o*o*

John shivered to wakefulness, his feet icy cold. His legs nearly gave out under him and he tightened his grip on…a doorknob. _Not again_. He was standing out in the hall, and from the way he was feeling he’d been there a while. It was dark save for the nightlight glowing a few feet away and he wondered what time it was. And how long he’d been standing in front of Rodney’s room with his hand on the knob.

As he continued to take stock of the situation he was mortified to realize that he was achingly hard, his erection poking out the top of his boxer briefs. What if Rodney caught him like this? He’d have to kill himself. He let go of the doorknob, unable to stop from giving it a testing turn before he did so; it was locked, thank God.

John turned and stumbled back to his room, his legs all pins and needles from standing still too long. He got back in bed, lying atop the tumbled sheets but tucking his feet under the extra blanket that lay across the foot of the bed. He didn’t know what the hell possessed him to go to Rodney’s room; if he’d had an erotic dream he certainly didn’t remember it.

He wanted to touch himself, ease the ache, but he felt funny doing it with Rodney right down the hall. Particularly since it was maybe because of Rodney that he was so hard to start with. John told himself that there was nothing to worry about because it was just a natural response to someone he found attractive, with whom he shared unavoidable proximity. He knew Rodney wasn’t a homophobe, but that didn’t mean he’d welcome any gay advances either. Neither one of them was in a very stable mental place at the moment and that surely was as good a reason as any why even thinking about sex and Rodney together was a very bad idea.

Still, John couldn’t help thinking about that crooked mouth, the way it expressed so much with a single downturn or a shy smile. Broad shoulders, and dexterous fingers that danced over a laptop keyboard almost as gracefully as they might over piano keys. In spite of himself, he reached down and pressed the heel of his hand against his erection, sighing at how good it felt to finally touch.

“Oh…”

John snapped to attention, sitting up and hastily pulling his blankets up over his lap. Rodney was standing in the doorway – he’d forgotten to close the door – with his mouth hanging open. The nightlight made odd shadows over him, but the surprised expression on his face was easy enough to see. John’s own face flamed, and for a moment he was transported back to that day when he was thirteen and one of the pretty young housemaids had caught him jerking off in the bathroom. Now, as then, he wished a hole would appear and swallow him up.

He didn’t have the first clue what to say, though _I’m sorry_ was already on the tip of his tongue. This was followed rapidly by defensive annoyance. Why should he be sorry? If he wanted to touch himself in the middle of the night, in his _own room_ , he shouldn’t have to apologize to anyone. Before he could really work himself up Rodney started talking.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to…that is, I heard you. Outside my door. And I wasn’t sure if you were sleepwalking or…or something, but you were out there for a long time, and then you were gone. I just wanted…I _wanted_ …” He seemed to run out of words, though his hands continued to twitch as if there was more he would say if he could just find a way to do it.

“No harm done,” John heard himself say. He waited for Rodney to turn and go back to his room, but instead he came closer, stepping so carefully the floor could’ve been made of glass.

“You touch me. A lot.”

“I don’t…”

“You _do_.” And of course Rodney was right. John had been doing a lot of touching, though he wanted to point out that it hadn’t been all one-sided. If he thought about it, _really_ thought about it, he could admit to himself that he might be a little starved for human contact; the warmth of someone else’s hand on his shoulder, his back, his face. He’d been alone for a long time. So long since anyone had touched him, so long since he’d _wanted_ someone to.

“I like it,” Rodney said shyly. He’d reached the side of the bed and stood looming over John. This close he could see the expression on the other man’s face, the desire and longing and fear written so clearly there.

“This is a bad idea,” John whispered, forcing the words out as Rodney sank to his knees beside the bed, elbows on the mattress and looking for all the world like he was about to say prayers before bedtime.

“This is a _terrible_ idea,” Rodney agreed. He reached out with one hand and let it hover just above John’s arm for a moment before dropping it down to fiddle with the blanket. “Do you know how long it’s been since someone’s touched me? I just want…I want someone to _touch_ me.”

His voice broke, and something inside John broke as well. He and Rodney were so goddamn much alike sometimes that it was a little scary, but he couldn’t ignore it or deny it, not in the face of Rodney’s courage in even bringing up something so incredibly personal. He stretched his arm out until he could cup Rodney’s scalp in his palm, long fingers carding through his wavy brown hair. It was so simple, and completely non-sexual, but John felt it like a shot of electricity all the way up his arm. Even more so when Rodney leaned into it, eyes closed and mouth trembling.

“Worst idea _ever_ ,” John murmured, and then he tugged on Rodney’s shoulder until the other man got with the program and came up on the bed. Suddenly he had the heat of another body pressed against him from chest to thighs and it wasn’t enough, would never be enough. John wrapped his arms around Rodney, his hands sliding up under Rodney’s t-shirt to touch the skin on his back.

Rodney touched him back and it was easier because John didn’t wear a shirt to bed. Those big, deft hands skated across his chest, his shoulders, and set the muscles in his abdomen twitching. Even in this Rodney couldn’t be quiet, couldn’t work without a running commentary, and all John felt was mindless affection.

“Oh, God, you’re ridiculous. No-one should be this hot. Hmmmm. Yeah, that’s good.” Rodney shivered as John lightly scraped his nails down the length of his back. “Don’t get lost, okay? Stay with me. Please.”

John couldn’t take that, the raw vulnerability in his voice, and so he kissed him hard, demanded and received entrance to his mouth, and who knew the genius could kiss so well? Rodney put everything he had into that kiss, it seemed, until John’s head was spinning and he couldn’t think past that one moment, that one kiss, that one touch.

Their still-clothed erections bumped against each other and John arched up even as Rodney pressed down. John wrenched his mouth away, lips swollen and wet, and firmed his grip on Rodney’s hips.

“ _Rodney_ …”

The man was a genius, he really was, because in the next breath he shoved John’s underwear down and had his hand wrapped around the hard, aching length of him, and John had never felt anything so good in all his life. Rodney’s hand moved in long, firm strokes, his thumb gliding over the head, and it wasn’t long before John’s back was bowing and he was coming and coming, every nerve ending glowing with white hot fire.

It took him a moment to come down from that high, during which Rodney idly stroked his hip with one big hand. John turned his head, kissing the lips that were right there waiting for him. Rodney moved a little, not breaking the kiss, and it took John a minute or two to work out that he was taking off his boxers. Needing no further encouragement he slid one hand down Rodney’s stomach, rucking up his t-shirt as he did so.

“God. John.” Rodney arched into the touch, even before John dragged his fingers along the other man’s erection. There were no more words now, just needy noises, as John licked his palm and began stroking in earnest, fast and hard. It wasn’t very long before Rodney was tensing and spilling into John’s hand, onto John’s belly, moaning helplessly into the side of John’s neck.

It was fast and dirty, and exactly what John had needed. Having Rodney cuddled up beside him afterwards, panting and half naked, should’ve been weird; none of his past encounters with men had included enjoying the afterglow. But it wasn’t weird. It was…nice.

“ _Best_ idea ever,” Rodney huffed out. He pressed a wet kiss to John’s shoulder. “I hope you still respect me in the morning.”

“I’ll respect you right now if you get something to clean up with.”

That earned him a snort, but Rodney rolled over John – carefully avoiding the mess on his stomach – and disappeared into the bathroom. In the time he was gone John tried to feel himself out, see if he was going to have a problem with what just happened, but he was too damn tired. And then Rodney was back with a warm washcloth, which he used to very fastidiously clean every trace of semen off John’s torso. He returned the washcloth to the bathroom and then stood in the middle of the bedroom, boxers hanging from one hand, shifting uncertainly from foot to foot.

“So…um. I should probably…” he inclined his head towards the door.

John wasn’t sure what the protocol was. His previous encounters with men hadn’t been the sleepover variety. He wanted Rodney to stay, to have that solid warmth in his bed to anchor him, but found he couldn’t ask for it. Instead he shrugged.

“Yeah.”

“Okay. Well…goodnight.” Rodney was gone before John could reply in kind.

He was tired, wrung out, but not enough to fall asleep right away. Instead, John turned on his side and pulled the blankets up, watching the numbers change on the alarm clock for three quarters of an hour. For the first time in a very long time he was painfully aware of the empty space in the bed beside him.

*o*o*o*

John slept uncharacteristically late the next morning. When he finally stumbled down the stairs in search of coffee he found a full pot waiting for him and a note from Rodney that merely said _Gone out. Back later_. That was fine by John, who didn’t mind putting off whatever awkward encounter they’d have today. Not that he regretted what happened, not exactly. Not when the memory of it made the corners of his mouth twitch up in an almost-grin. He just didn’t know what he was supposed to do next.

One and a half cups of coffee later, John hit the beach. He wore a sweatshirt and board shorts, and Teva water shoes on his feet. He walked along the shoreline, ignoring the few people who were also braving the blustery winds. He was glad for the relative solitude because it gave him a chance to clear his head.

He didn’t understand how his life had gotten so complicated. His quiet cottage on the beach had now been infiltrated by two cats and an emotionally scarred astrophysicist. If that wasn’t already enough, another wrench had been thrown into the works. Why had he encouraged Rodney last night? Had he taken advantage of him, or had John himself been taken advantage of? Maybe liberties had been taken on both sides.

_I want someone to touch me_. Such a simple thing, touch. John had needed it just as badly as Rodney, had felt _starved_ for it, and was having a hard time regretting it. Would, in fact, probably do it all over again if he ever got the chance. It seemed incredibly foolish, all things considered. He barely knew Rodney, for one thing. He also had to consider that, given his own mental instabilities, he was unfit to be in any sort of relationship. Hell, that was true even _before_ the PTSD.

The big unknown at the moment was Rodney. John couldn’t predict how he’d handle things, if he’d be upset or clingy or something else altogether. Of course, there was also the possibility that John was reading too much into the whole thing, over thinking it. 

John sighed and turned to head back. He was too hungry to put off whatever confrontation awaited him when Rodney returned from wherever it was he went. Turned out he didn’t have to wait long, because his housemate was pacing on the porch, a large manila envelope clutched in his hand.

“Sheppard! There you are! Where have you been?” As soon as John was close enough Rodney grabbed his wrist and pulled him inside. “Never mind, look what came! It’s the paperwork from NAFI!”

John grabbed the envelope, which was being waved dangerously close to his eyes. They’d sent an inquiry to the National Association of Flight Instructors – well, Rodney had nagged him to death until he’d done so – to find out more about how he could get certified as a flight instructor

“I don’t suppose you made breakfast?” John asked hopefully. When he got a blank stare in return he rolled his eyes and pushed past Rodney to get to the kitchen. “Did you eat?”

“Eat?”

“Yeah, you know. Food? Eggs? Something?”

“But NAFI…”

“Food first, McKay.”

Rodney boosted himself up to sit on the counter. “I already ate.”

“Well, I didn’t.” John rummaged through the fridge and pulled out a couple of eggs and a slice of cheese. It didn’t take long to scramble them up and melt the cheese on top. He ate leaning against the island, across from where Rodney was sitting. “So where’d you go?”

“Needed to clear my head.” Rodney swung his legs, the heels of his shoes thudding against the cabinet doors. “I went to Clatsop, poked around the Physics department.”

“The community college?” John wondered if there was some reason that Rodney couldn’t stay closer to home when he needed to work through things, although at least this time he hadn’t felt the need to drive to a whole other state.

“It’s a dinky department,” Rodney said with tremendous amounts of scorn. “Whatever poor undergrads are taking Physics are having a disservice done to them, I assure you.”

“You looking for a job?” John scraped the last bit of egg off his plate and moved to the sink to wash his dirty dishes.

“Are you kidding me? I’m not going to waste my intelligence on a room full of undergrads.”

“Well, no, we wouldn’t want that.” John suppressed a grin.

“It’s just…I don’t know what I’m supposed to do now, you know?” Rodney sighed. “All my best, most revolutionary work is classified and being held hostage by the military. Do I get back to independent consulting? Just keep writing my memoirs, which can never be published because they’d be so highly redacted as to be unreadable? What?”

He looked at John as if he held all the answers, and John wished that were true. Rodney was so keen on helping with the flight school idea and he hadn’t given any thought to the fact that his resident genius might be at loose ends. After all, he’d been gone for two years and during that time had probably lost a lot of his contacts. Not to mention the gap he’d now have in his resume. 

“Is there something you’ve always wanted to do?” John asked. He set his empty plate on the counter. “Maybe this is a good time to change things up for yourself.”

“Hmmm.” Rodney looked thoughtful. “I guess you could be right. I’ll have to give that some thought.”

John nodded, and gave him a chuck on the shoulder. He picked up his plate and moved to the sink to wash it and the pan he’d used. Surely there must be an infinite number of things that Rodney could do; with that big brain, he’d probably be good at anything he set his mind to.

He finished up the dishes and dried his hands, surprised to find that Rodney was still in the kitchen, still sitting on the counter and watching him with an almost sorrowful expression on his face.

“Rodney?”

“I know it’s probably not the right thing, I mean, I know guys don’t talk about this stuff…”

John’s breath caught and he felt frozen in place. He should’ve known Rodney would want to talk about it, when there was nothing he’d like to talk about _less_.

“You don’t…”

“Yes, I _do_ ,” Rodney insisted, though he was unable to look John in the eye. “I just…it feels like I took advantage of the situation, and that’s the last thing I wanted to do. I’m not that guy, I mean, _really_ not. I know you have a lot of stuff going on and it wasn’t fair of me to just assume. I don’t want things to be weird between us, okay?”

He sounded so earnest and contrite. John wasn’t sure what to say, and found himself looking down at his bare feet as if inspiration would come from the floor tiles or his toenails or something.

“Rodney…”

But Rodney wasn’t finished. “Thing is, I can’t read people. Like, at all. Gaydar? Don’t have it. I can make sense of virtually any mathematical equation or computer algorithm, but people? Too hard. There’s just too many variables, you know?”

He was rambling, his voice starting to edge into a hysterical register, and John couldn’t take any more of his self-deprecation. He put his hand on Rodney’s knee and squeezed, hard.

“You didn’t take advantage of me, okay? I wanted it too.” _Needed_ it. God, how he’d needed it. “You didn’t offend my delicate sensibilities.”

Rodney snorted. “Not much about you that’s delicate, Sheppard.”

“Try and remember that,” John shot back. He gave Rodney’s knee one more squeeze and then walked away before things could get any more touchy-feely.

*o*o*o*

Rodney kept to himself more than usual for the next two days and John was surprised to find that he missed spending so much time with him; he thought he’d be relieved to avoid awkward conversations but that wasn’t the case at all. At least he was staying in the house this time, locked away in the study doing who-knows-what at odd hours of the day.

John kept to his normal schedule and tried not to worry. He cooked dinner, leaving a plate wrapped up in the microwave for Rodney. Whenever he went out he left a note stuck to the fridge. And every night he lay in bed for hours, feeling foolish for hoping that Rodney might pay him another late-night visit and then waking up disappointed the next morning.

On the third day John gratefully accepted Maggie’s invitation to come out to lunch with her. He thought they’d go to the diner or something, and was surprised when she drove them up to Haystack Hill for a picnic at the scenic overlook.

“Does Ben know you’re on a romantic picnic with another man?” John teased, helping spread out the blanket; it was difficult getting it to lay flat with the wind that was coming off the water.

“It’s good to keep him on his toes,” Maggie replied with a grin.

They sat down and tucked into an array of sandwiches, homemade potato salad, and some of Maggie’s famous chocolate cake. John felt nice and relaxed, the sound of the waves soothing him as it always did.

“I really love it here,” he murmured, tipping his head back to finish off his bottle of Dr. Pepper.

“I know what you mean,” Maggie said. “I came here on vacation and never left. That was fifteen years ago.”

John looked out at Haystack Rock, and wondered at what moment Cannon Beach had become _home_. Or maybe the better question was when Rodney had become part of that for him. Before they met, or after?

“So how are things going?” Maggie reclined on the blanket, propped up on one arm. “You and Rodney getting along okay?”

“We have our good days.” John sighed. “I don’t know. It’s hard sometimes. And sometimes…it’s not.”

“Yeah, well, that sounds like a relationship to me.”

“I’m not good at relationships. Just ask my ex-wife.” As always, thoughts of Nancy made John feel incredibly inadequate. 

“I didn’t know you were married. How’d that go?” 

“About as good as you’d expect,” John said, his tone full of self-deprecation. “I married her for all the wrong reasons and we made each other miserable for a year and a half before she finally had enough and left me.”

Maggie put her hand on John’s arm. “Sounds pretty bad.”

He shrugged. “It’s not like I didn’t learn anything.”

“Care to enlighten me?”

“Well…uh. Okay. I learned that sex doesn’t fix things.” Not that he hadn’t tried. Boy, had he tried. “Which led to my second lesson.”

“And that was?”

“Girls just don’t do it for me,” John replied with a grin. Maggie smacked his arm.

“Idiot. So how do you want things to go with Rodney?”

John flopped down on the blanket, hands behind his head. “I don’t know, honestly. We had…there was some…God, _please_ don’t make me say it.”

Maggie rolled her eyes. “Was there kissing, John? Jeez, you’re a prude.”

“Very funny. And yes, there was kissing. Really good kissing. But…I’m not sure there’ll be any more.”

“Do you want more?”

“Yeah. I think…yeah.” It felt good to say it out loud, to admit that he wanted Rodney, wanted more with Rodney. “I’m just…concerned. Because what if the two of us are too messed up? He’s got some issues, too, you know, and I can’t tell you what they are, but it might be too much especially if you figure in my problems.”

“John. Calm down. Look. Don’t think you have to give up having a real life because you have PTSD. That’s only a small part of you, a part that _will_ get better.” Maggie rolled over on her stomach and raised up on her elbows. “You have every right to be happy.”

John closed his eyes, flushing in embarrassment. He knew she was right, but knowing it didn’t make acceptance come any easier. Not to mention that he didn’t know what Rodney wanted.

“Have you talked to him about any of this?”

“Kinda.”

“I think you need something more definitive than _kinda_ , John. Man up and talk to him. Get things straight between the two of you, so that you know what you need to do. You can’t move forward otherwise.”

“I hate you,” John grumbled.

“No you don’t.”

“No. I don’t.” He agreed and rolled over on his side, pressing a kiss on Maggie’s forehead. “How’d you get so smart?”

“Silly John. I’m a woman. I was born that way.”

*o*o*o*

John opted to walk back to the cottage; it wasn’t all that far from the overlook and it was a nice enough day to get some physical exercise. He felt better for having talked to Maggie. She was right of course – he and Rodney were going to have to talk, talk about things that actually mattered, like feelings. He was dreading it, not only because it just didn’t come naturally to him but also because he didn’t know what Rodney would say.

Several people stopped to offer him a ride home and though he declined it gave him a warm feeling; people here knew him, liked him. It had been like that for him in the Air Force, too, that sense of community and camaraderie. He’d missed it, more than he thought he would. Even if things didn’t work out with Rodney, he knew he couldn’t leave Cannon Beach. 

When he got back to the cottage John was brought up short. There was a black sedan in the driveway with government plates on it, and he knew that couldn’t be good. Even less so when he heard Rodney’s voice raised; he was having an argument with whoever had come in the car and private or not, John wasn’t going to leave him in there alone. The government had screwed him over once, he wouldn’t let them do it again.

All the action seemed to be happening in the living room. John slipped through the front door and made his approach as silently as possible, not that anyone would hear him over the noise Rodney was making as he stomped around.

“…choke on it!” Rodney snapped. John hovered uncertainly in the doorway, unnoticed by either his housemate or the blonde woman in the Air Force uniform.

“You’re being unreasonable,” she said and it was clear to John that she was trying very hard to be patient. He wondered if this was Major Hotlips.

“Unreasonable?!” Rodney was red in the face and looked like he might be on the edge of a stroke. He continued to pace, his arms flailing as he gestured frenetically. “You rushed the program! We weren’t ready. We didn’t have the personnel or any kind of information that would’ve saved our lives. People _died_! Needlessly! And I won’t be part of another ill-fated expedition!”

“This time it’s different, this time we have the gene therapy…”

“Screw your gene therapy and screw Carson Beckett if he thinks that’s a good enough reason to go back! He should know better than anyone!”

John felt a flush of anger wash over him. They wanted to send Rodney back to where his friends had died? Where there was every chance that this time he wouldn’t come back? That was unacceptable and he stepped fully into the room, arms crossed over his chest.

“Rodney’s not going anywhere,” he said. The woman turned, startled, and John saw that in the past two years she’d been promoted to Colonel. His arms twitched as he resisted the urge to salute; that wasn’t his life anymore, he reminded himself.

“John?” Rodney gave him a look of naked relief.

“I’m going to ask you politely to leave,” John said to Colonel Hotlips; the aforementioned lips thinned as she glowered. “Dr. McKay doesn’t work for you anymore.”

“You signed a confidentiality agreement, Rodney,” she said disapprovingly.

“He didn’t tell me anything,” John said before Rodney could protest. “I was Air Force, Colonel, I know the signs of front-line trauma. Please don’t make me ask you again to leave.”

She turned on him, drawing up to her full height. “Major Sheppard, you have no idea how important Dr. McKay is to the success of this mission. He has a unique skill set that could literally change the course of a war.”

John narrowed his eyes at the use of his former rank, though he wasn’t surprised that she’d done her homework before coming here to try and woo Rodney back. He was so tired of the military trying to bully people, wear them down until they joined the company line. He was done with it and so was Rodney.

“Dr. McKay is more than his skill set, Colonel. And he’s needed here much more than whatever far-flung warzone you want to send him to.”

“I’m not coming back, Sam,” Rodney said. “And I want to go on the record as saying that you should forget about Pegasus; there’s nothing for us there.”

John moved past the Colonel to stand beside Rodney, showing her a united front. She gave them a speculative look, and then nodded.

“I can’t promise this is the end of it, Rodney. You know what Hammond is like.”

“And I know what Jack is like. I’ll call him if I have to.”

She nodded again, then turned smartly on her heel and walked out. Rodney immediately sagged against John, clutching at his arm.

“Jesus. I can’t believe she came back here, after everything. I can’t believe she expected me to just get back on board like a good little soldier.”

John pulled Rodney to the sofa and sat with him, wrapping an arm around his shoulders.

“I mean, the complete arrogance! And she should _know_ better! The things she’s seen…well, what do I expect from the SGC. Where angels fear to tread. That should be their motto. Maybe if they used their brains…thank you.” All the tension abruptly left him and he leaned against John, eyes closed. “You didn’t have to do that, but I really appreciate it. I’ve never had anyone do that for me. Stand up for me.”

“Hey. Rodney.” John rested his free hand on Rodney’s chest, feeling the too-fast beating of his heart. “I meant what I said.”

Rodney opened his eyes, and they were so big and so blue as close as his head was to John’s. “I know you did,” he said softly.

John wanted to kiss him then, had to fight the impulse to do just that. He wasn’t sure it was the right time, not with how upset Rodney was. And he was pretty sure they needed to have that talk first before they complicated things any further.

“You know, I’ve been doing a lot of thinking,” Rodney said in that same hushed tone. And then he leaned forward, eyes fluttering shut as he pressed his mouth to John’s. Every argument immediately fled John’s head as he clutched at Rodney’s shirt and pressed forward, immediately deepening the kiss. He felt flushed head to toe, his skin lighting up, and there was a familiar feeling in his gut, one he hadn’t felt in a long while.

“Is this okay?” Rodney murmured against his mouth, not pulling away.

“It’s just like flying,” John breathed out. He captured those lips again, reveling in the taste of them, the feel of them. He swallowed Rodney’s moan, brushed away the wetness on Rodney’s face with this thumbs, and decided that he’d do it all over again, everything, just to get to this moment.

Minutes, or maybe hours, later Rodney kissed his way along John’s jawline until he could rest his head on John’s shoulder. They were nearly horizontal on the couch, wrapped around each other in a way John hadn’t been with anyone since high school. He carded through Rodney’s hair with one hand and rubbed circles on his stomach with the other.

“So,” Rodney said. “I have this survivor guilt thing.”

“PTSD,” John countered.

“Allergic to citrus.”

“Sleepwalking.”

“I can be…difficult.”

“I like a challenge.”

Rodney pressed a kiss into John’s neck. “This could go wrong a lot of ways.”

John slid his hand to Rodney’s hip and squeezed. “Or it could go right. I guess we’ll just have to wait and see.”

He felt Rodney’s chuckle all along his side. “I’m glad we had this talk, Sheppard.”

“Yup. We’re practically a Lifetime movie.” He moved his hand along Rodney’s hip bone until he was cupping the growing hardness in Rodney’s pants. “Or maybe that’s Showtime.”

“Show time is exactly right,” Rodney said.

This time it was different, there was none of the frantic fervor that had ruled them in the dark hours of the night. They took their time, peeling away each layer of clothing and exploring whatever patch of skin was exposed. John learned that Rodney had very sensitive nipples, and Rodney learned that sucking on John’s earlobe was enough to reduce him to wordless groans of pleasure. After they brought each other to climax they remained tangled up, dozing together on the couch in a patch of warm sunshine. It was pretty close to perfect.

*o*o*o*

**Ten Months Later**

John drove home from the Seaside airport, feeling more than pleased with himself. His first airplane tour of the Oregon coast had been a spectacular success and he knew word would start to spread; hell, Rodney had taken out every kind of ad he could think of to promote the tours, though John had drawn the line at attaching a banner to the plane.

He was feeling pretty pleased with his life, all things considered. He’d gotten the sky back, which he knew made him grin like a lunatic at odd times. He was off the Ambien – turned out he slept a hell of a lot better and was less apt to wander with Rodney sharing his bed – and while he still had the Ativan he needed to use it much less than he had been. And of course he had Rodney, who could still be prickly and defensive and impossible, but who insisted that they never go to bed mad and had battled his fear of flying long enough to participate in John’s inaugural flight in the plane Rodney had helped him buy.

John pulled up in the driveway, parking behind the Prius. Rodney had a few weeks of downtime before summer classes started at Clatsop; after much soul-searching he’d decided to bestow the gift of his genius on their tiny Physics department. John had no doubt that in another year or two, future physicists from all over the country would be sending their applications there.

Rodney was sitting out on the porch, a cat-and-canary expression on his face that instantly put John on alert. He got out of the truck, slung his messenger bag over his shoulder, and went to join his partner.

“How’d it go?” Rodney asked when John sat beside him on the wicker loveseat. “Any problems?”

“Nope. Everything went smooth as silk.” John mimed the take-off with his hand. “The Brinkersons had a great time.”

“That’s good.” Rodney nodded, but he had a solemn look on his face. In fact, he was trying really hard at keeping it in place but John could see the corners of his mouth trembling.

“Something on your mind, buddy?”

“Your…uh…your lease is up.”

John nodded, playing along. “You’re right. I guess I should start looking for a new place, huh? There’s a cute little cottage further up the beach I’ve had my eye on.”

Rodney shoved an envelope in his hand. “Well, before you start picking out fabric samples, maybe you should look at this.”

John opened it warily; with Rodney you never knew what might be inside. He had a way of rigging envelopes so that little balls of paper or a billion tiny pieces of confetti would come springing out. But this envelope only held a piece of plain, ordinary paper. It was, in fact, a copy of the deed to the cottage, and it suddenly became far less ordinary when John saw that his name had been added to it, listed right beneath M. Rodney McKay.

“Rodney, what…what did you…?”

Rodney lost the battle with solemn, now looking equal parts happy and anxious. “It’s been our place since you moved in. I’m just making it official. But I don’t want you feel tied down or anything, I mean that’s not why I did it.”

John carefully folded the paper back up and stuffed it in the envelope, which he set on top of his bag. “I know why you did it.”

He cupped Rodney’s face in his hands and kissed him, soft and sweet. Right there on the porch where anyone could see because it turned out most people in Cannon Beach just didn’t care; they were only glad to see that John and Rodney were happy. It was the most free John had ever felt.

“Don’t think this absolves you from doing housework,” Rodney said, snuggling up. “I still expect clean floors.”

“Yes, dear.”

“Hey. Can I…uh…can I ask you something?”

“You know you can.”

Rodney fell silent for a long minute and John waited him out. “I was wondering if you’d consider signing the SGC’s confidentiality papers.”

John couldn’t help but tense up at the mention of the SGC. He hadn’t been able to find much information about them online, and all of his inquiries always ended up at the same place – with General Jack O’Neill, who never seemed to be available to take his call.

Rodney wrapped an arm around John’s waist and gave him a squeeze. “Please don’t do that. I just…if you signed the agreement I could tell you about what happened. Where I was. And I think…I think I’m ready to talk about it now.”

John held him tightly, his eyes burning just a little as he fought back the tears that crowded there. He knew this was a big step for Rodney and he’d do whatever he needed to do to help him work through the events of those two years.

“Okay,” he said, that one word barely making it through the tightness in his throat. 

“I love you, you know.”

John lost his capacity for speech; Rodney didn’t say those words often and John treasured them. He kissed Rodney, who was so skilled at knowing all the things John had trouble saying, and he knew this was it for him. This was his life and would always be, because there was no life for him without Rodney in it.

They stayed out there on the porch and watched the sun go down over the ocean, and John finally asked the question that had been bothering him for just about a year now.

“Hey, what does the ‘M’ stand for in M. Rodney McKay?”

Rodney huffed out a laugh. “It’s gonna take more than a confidentiality agreement for you to get _that_ information, my friend.”

“Is that a challenge, Dr. McKay?”

“It could be interpreted as such, Mr. Sheppard.”

John laughed and got to his feet, pulling Rodney up with him. “I can have you begging to tell me in fifteen minutes.”

“You get me begging in ten and I’ll tell you anything you want to know,” Rodney promised with a leer. He broke away and ran inside, taking the stairs two at a time. “But you have to catch me first!”

John didn’t bother telling him that it didn’t matter if he caught Rodney, because Rodney had already caught him a year ago, through the pages of his journal. That was when John had really started falling in love with him…sight unseen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **AN:** That’s all, folks! Well, I guess I can’t say that definitively. Never know when the muse might want to revisit this version of John and Rodney again. Thanks so much for all the kind words, I’m so glad you enjoyed this AU. Lots more John and Rodney fun times to come!


	7. The Fighter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Songfic. I have no rights to this song, I just really like it. ::grins::

  
**The Fighter,** Gym Class Heroes

  
_Give em hell, turn their heads_  
 _Gonna live life 'til we're dead._  
 _Give me scars, give me pain_  
 _Then they'll say to me, say to me, say to me_  
 _There goes the fighter, there goes the fighter_  
 _Here comes the fighter_  
 _That's what they'll say to me, say to me, say to me,_  
 _This one's a fighter_

_'Til the referee rings the bell_  
 _'Til both ya eyes start to swell_  
 _'Til the crowd goes home,_  
 _What we gonna do kid?_  


* * *

_Can you hear me, Sheppard? You need to fight this, okay? You’re…ah…the strongest person I know. Honestly. So stop dicking around and wake up already!_

*o*o*o*

John got into his first fight when he was nine years old. His little brother Dave started coming home from school hungry because Sam Doyle was taking his lunch. Even then they knew better than to involve their father in the matter – parents just made things worse.

Everyone at school lived in fear of Sam, John included. Sam was big – he’d been held back a couple of times – and prone to random acts of violence. You never knew when you’d get a shove or a punch or have your hair pulled. He stole lunches, clothes and toys. The other kids were good at keeping their heads down, but John wasn’t about to stand by and let someone else put hands on his brother. He swallowed his fear and did what he had to do.

The fight became legend among the playground set. The end result was that both John and Sam got suspended from school, and while John’s dad played at being outraged he was clearly pleased with his son for being the hero. John wore his bruises like badges of honor and Sam never bothered him or anyone he hung out with after that. John Sheppard became synonymous with protection and he had a whole lot of new friends.

That first taste of heroism was quite heady and John wanted more of it. All through school he continued to fight for Dave – getting him a spot on the football team even though he wasn’t a strong player, going head to head with his father when Dave wanted to take art lessons. He was his brother’s mouthpiece, his staunchest defender, but eventually John needed a change. He needed a bigger challenge, and so he joined the Air Force. It changed things between him and his brother forever; Dave never really forgave him.

*o*o*o*

_Hey. It’s me. They had turkey sandwiches in the mess today. I brought you one, you know, just in case. I think you’ve had a long enough rest now, Sheppard. We postponed movie night again which, as you know, means I don’t get any popcorn. Just something to consider._

*o*o*o*

He became an even bigger hero than he’d been at home, well known for his crazy stunts and his willingness to do just about anything. John loved getting to fly, would do almost anything to get to stay in the sky. It wasn’t long before he could fly anything they sat him in – planes, helos, gliders.

There was plenty of fighting to be done in the military. John fought against insurgents almost as frequently as he fought his own people. He quickly became the one others in his unit turned to when they were unhappy, when there was a problem, because they knew he’d take up their cause. And he did his best to fix things, set things right, even to the detriment of his own record.

Even when he knew failure was almost a certainty he couldn’t keep from fighting for what was right. Major Sheppard never left a man behind, everyone knew it, counted on it. He fought his commanding officers for Mitch and Dex, for Holland. They were hollow moral victories, and eventually John got tired of fighting, of being the one to stand up and voice what the others were thinking. 

No-one in his unit backed him up against the final charges. No-one tried to fix things for _him_ , though of course his friends were sympathetic. When the Air Force sent him to Antarctica he went willingly; he was tired. When he got to McMurdo he kept to himself, didn’t fraternize with anyone regardless of the interest that came his way. For the first time he didn’t mind being out of the spotlight.

*o*o*o*

_Damn it, John! You’re the only one who can do this! I can’t…I tried to…please! If you can’t do it for yourself, do it for me. For Atlantis. We need you._

*o*o*o*

The Stargate program and Atlantis literally fell in John’s lap. He’s pretty sure he wouldn’t have requested inclusion even if he’d known about it before that drone almost shot him down, but once McKay determined how powerful his hitherto unknown ATA gene was the physicist had fought hard to have him. And that was something completely new. No-one had ever wanted him so badly and judging by McKay’s volume alone as he harangued Colonels and Generals, he _really_ wanted him. So despite the black mark on his military jacket and the fact that his new CO seemed to hate him on sight, John went through the Gate and started a new life on Atlantis.

Only to find it wasn’t all that new, after all. He slid right back into the hero role, though he didn’t care for it as much as he once had. But there were so many people to fight for in the Pegasus galaxy, starting with the Athosians and including everyone on the Atlantis expedition, and anyone threatened by the Wraith. John was more resigned than happy to stand up for them, to assume the mantle of responsibility once again and make the hard choices.

It should have been business as usual for him, but then there was McKay. Stubborn and egotistical and tactless, his colleagues either feared or loathed him. The Marines didn’t understand him. But John saw something in him that was familiar – Rodney was just as much a fighter, except that he’d always been fighting for himself. So John fought extra hard for Rodney – to get him on his team, to get him to socialize, to get him to work harder for all their sakes.

John hadn’t expected that, in return, Rodney would start fighting just as hard for him. To make him care about his own life, to keep him from making unnecessary sacrifices, to make him see he wasn’t alone anymore. And he really wasn’t, because for the first time John had a support system unrivaled in _any_ galaxy. People who cared about him, who fought to keep him as their military leader despite a rocky start.

And always there was Rodney, with his crooked mouth and receding hairline and determination to be John’s friend, to keep him anchored, to keep him safe. It sometimes frightened John, to have that intensity focused on him; like Rodney could see all the things that had been hidden for so many years. And yet…maybe he was ready to finally be seen.

*o*o*o*

_That’s right, John. You have to fight. I realize you don’t have much experience at it, but that’s okay. Because I’m right here and I’m not letting you go. You don’t have to do it alone._

*o*o*o*

John blinked up at the ceiling, groggy and disoriented. The lights, though dimmed, were still too bright. He was in the infirmary, he realized, but he couldn’t remember how he’d gotten there. His mouth was bone dry and he felt ridiculously weak and exhausted. Turning his head with some effort, he saw that Rodney was curled up asleep on the next bed. He looked rumpled and scruffy.

John tried to say Rodney’s name, but all that came out was a rusty wheeze. It was enough; his friend’s eyes popped open and he was next to the bed in a flash.

“John! Oh, thank God!” His eyes were suspiciously bright but he covered by fumbling for a cup of water on the bedside table. “Here. Nice and easy.”

The tepid water tasted like heaven as it slid down his parched throat. Rodney pulled the cup away too soon, but at least now he could get some actual words out.

“What. Happened.”

“Stupid storm, that’s what happened.” Rodney’s hands never stopped moving, smoothing the blanket that covered John to the waist, tapping against the mattress, and occasionally drifting very lightly down John’s arm. “Tree fell, right on top of you. We thought…well, it doesn’t matter. How are you feeling?”

“Tired,” he replied honestly. Rodney let out a chuckle that sounded a bit too strangled, and when his hand passed down John’s arm again he grabbed hold, twining their fingers together.

“Yes, well, you’ve been catnapping here for a couple of weeks. Team’s been grounded until further notice, and I’ve been bored out of my mind, so I’m really glad…I’m glad you’re okay.”

“Thanks,” John said. Rodney just stared at him a moment and then pressed a feather light kiss to his forehead.

There wasn’t time for any further discussion before Carson arrived on the scene. He gave John a thorough examination, asked him countless cognitive questions, and then shooed Rodney out of the room so John could get some sleep.

“I’ll be back,” Rodney promised on his way out the door.

John just nodded. He didn’t doubt that in the slightest.

*o*o*o*

For the first time in his life John started to fight for himself, for the things _he_ wanted. Before DADT was repealed on Earth, John and Elizabeth did away with it on Atlantis, where it served even less of a purpose. He fought for time off so that he could spend it with Rodney. They moved into larger quarters together and held hands in public and continued to save each other’s lives on a semi-regular basis. Only now John fought just as hard to keep himself alive, because he knew Rodney would do no less, would expect no less.

Things weren’t perfect – between the Wraith and the Genii there were plenty of bad days – but John figured they were close enough under the circumstances. And if some people looked at him and said, _that one’s a fighter_ , well, that was alright too. For the first time in his life he was happy for himself, for what he’d achieved, and that was definitely worth fighting for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **AN:** I really like this song, and the more I listened to it the more it seemed like a John song. Always fighting for other people, but luckily in my world he’s got Rodney fighting for him.


	8. Defying Gravity

Johnny Sheppard sees his first Ferris wheel when he’s six years old, from the parking lot as he and his friend Richie walk towards the fair. It’s just turning dark and the big wheel is all lit up, towering above everything else. From his perspective it seems to touch the sky and if he only gets to do one thing tonight it’s to take a ride on it.

He’s at the mercy of Richie’s parents, though, who were kind enough to invite him along; Johnny’s own parents are far too busy for something as pedestrian as a fair, though at least his mother seemed honestly apologetic about it. They get hot dogs and cotton candy, visit the petting zoo, and ride some of the tamer kid rides. Richie gets his face painted to look like a tiger and Johnny gets the Superman symbol on his cheek.

When they finally make it to the Ferris wheel Richie balks at going on. Mrs. Emmons volunteers to go and gets in one of the swinging seats with Johnny, making sure the safety bar is locked in place. The wheel starts to move and they make the first slow revolution, with a few stops as more people get on and off. Mrs. Emmons sees the way he’s gripping the safety bar and mistakes his excitement for fear.

“Don’t worry, sweetie. We’re perfectly safe.”

Johnny just nods, not bothering to correct her. The Ferris wheel doesn’t seem very safe to _him_ , but that’s what makes it so great. As they sweep over the top he looks down on the fair, at all the tents and colored lights. All the nearby rides are playing music, and a band is playing in the grandstand, creating a cacophony of competing sound that doesn’t detract from the experience in the slightest.

On their second revolution the chair stops at the very top, and this time Johnny tilts his head back and looks at the sky, glittering with stars like white Christmas lights. It’s so big and so full of possibility, and all at once he decides he wants to be an astronaut when he grows up. He imagines the Ferris wheel coming untethered and floating upwards like a helium balloon.

He’s filled with disappointment when the wheel begins to move again and his ride is over. He wants to go again, and again, but he doesn’t ask because it’s not polite and Richie is already whining about getting to the midway and playing games. He follows along but his head it still up in the sky, filled with imaginings of what could be found up there. Are there aliens that look like people, like in the Witch Mountain movie? Or are they more like The Blob?

Johnny promises himself that one day he’ll find out. He’ll visit Skylab, and from there every planet in the solar system. He’ll battle bad aliens and make friends with nice ones. The sky has called him, a siren song of unimaginable adventures, and he’ll never forget it.

*o*o*o*

When Johnny is eleven years old his Uncle Paul takes him to the Reno Air Races, which are held at old Stead Air Force Base. It’s loud and hot and the air tastes like fuel, but he loves it. In between races there are flying exhibitions, including some military jets that go so fast his breath catches every time they roar overhead.

During a break in the action, Uncle Paul buys them sausage and pepper sandwiches, which they eat while walking around looking at the planes. Some are really old, like a carefully restored Sopwith Camel and a B-17 Bomber with a pin-up girl painted on the side. Others are reproductions, like the shiny Tiger Moth that gleams brightly under the hot Reno sun.

The owner of the biplane chats with Uncle Paul for a little bit, before catching Johnny running one reverent hand over the lower wing. He’s a big guy, with an even bigger moustache, and he claps Johnny on the back so hard he almost knocks him down.

“You like planes, kid?”

“Yes, Sir. I sure do.” He’s old enough now to know that the first step to getting into the space program is getting behind the controls of plane. He’s been begging his father to let him take flying lessons, but it falls on deaf ears; his father never takes him seriously.

“Ever been flying?”

“No, Sir.”

The man has a few more words with Uncle Paul, some money changes hands, and then a leather cap and goggles are being thrust in Johnny’s hands. 

“Hop in, kid. Let’s take a ride!”

Johnny looks to his uncle for confirmation, then wastes no time scrambling up into the second seat. He carefully straps on the cap and spends a minute or two fitting the goggles tightly to his head. His stomach churns with a mixture of anticipation and fear; unlike the Ferris wheel, there’s nothing keeping this plane safely tethered to the ground. 

The pilot helps him with the safety straps, and then goes to the front of the plane to manually start the propeller. It sputters to life and before Johnny knows it they’re moving to one of the smaller runways not being used in the races. He grips the sides of his seat tightly, and when the Tiger Moth zips down the runway and first lifts into the air he can’t help whooping with sheer joy.

The little plane gains altitude and Johnny throws his arms up in the air as if he were on a roller coaster. He’s slipped the bonds of gravity and gained the sky for the first time in his life, and it’s so much more than he thought it would be. They slice through the clouds, the airfield nothing but a memory behind them. When the pilot goes into the first barrel roll Johnny starts laughing and finds he can’t stop.

He’s never wanted anything more in his life at that moment than he wants to be the one at the controls, the pilot who coaxes the plane through a few more rolls and then drops low to buzz a field full of cattle. He’s part of the sky, part of the endless blue that stretches in all directions forever.

When the plane finally comes back to Earth Johnny is nearly drunk with pleasure, unsteady on his feet and seeing nothing but blue when he closes his eyes. There’s no force in the world that can keep his feet on the ground now.

“Uncle Paul?” he asks as they make their way back to watch the races. “Do you think I could get into the Air Force?”

*o*o*o*

John Sheppard first breaks the sound barrier behind the controls of an F-16 Viper and his hooting draws laughs over the headset from his wingman.

“Was that a girlish scream I just heard, Spaceman?”

“Just a manly expression of happiness at supersonic speeds,” John shoots back. This is the fastest he’s ever gone and he doesn’t want to stop. It hasn’t been easy for him, being in the Air Force. He chafes against the rules, against the same kind of rigid authority that drove him from home in the first place. But it’s all worth it for this, for the way he can now own the sky. 

He keeps an eye on his HUD while he and Rover go through the paces. In a few days they’ll be deployed to Iraq and John needs to prove to himself that he’s ready for action. He doesn’t care much about the politics involved, he just wants to get out there and do what he was trained for. Simulations are all well and good, but he wants a real enemy to face. He wants to show he can be a team player.

John executes a tight roll, unable to keep the grin off his face. He gives up more than gravity when he’s in the cockpit. Up here he can’t be touched by his father’s disappointment that he didn’t stay in college, or by the absence of his mother, who died before he graduated high school and wouldn’t get to see anything of the man he was trying to be. Up here it’s just him and the world is still full of possibility.

“Come on, Rover, keep up! Places to go, people to see!” John pushes the stick and pulls ahead, forcing Rover to follow. They play tag all the way back to base.

*o*o*o*

John finally gets into space, though not at all the way he imagined. In fact, he’d thought space was lost to him. Keeping the sky has been hard enough; his natural propensity to do things his own way has earned him nothing but trouble until the Air Force finally just sends him to McMurdo until he either begs for a discharge or freezes to death. He still manages to fly, though not as often or as fast, but by that point he’s hanging on by his fingernails and it’s the best he can do. 

The next thing he knows, he’s stepping through a Stargate, and there is a momentary rush of adrenalin at the knowledge of just how far he’s traveling in the blink of an eye. It’s a bit anticlimactic, though, because he basically steps from one underground bunker to another and he can’t even see the sky when he first gets to Atlantis.

It’s Rodney, of all people, who finds him the puddlejumper. Of all the things he’s flown over the years it’s probably the ugliest, but it handles like a dream. When he sits down in the pilot’s chair and the controls respond to his thoughts it’s like he’s six years old again. It has a shield and inertial dampeners, which means he can do all kinds of maneuvers without getting a hair out of place. John never tells Rodney – though he suspects he knows anyway – that when he takes a ‘jumper out on his own he often shuts the dampeners off; he wants to feel everything, the rush and the rolls and the g-force.

Over time John has his chance to pilot more than just the puddlejumpers. All of his training pays off, because he can literally fly anything – F-302 Interceptors, Wraith Darts, even Atlantis herself. But it’s a ‘jumper he’s in the first time he breaks through Lantea’s atmosphere and moves through the inky blackness of space. John is literally speechless; his dream since he was a kid has been realized and he knows well enough how rare that is.

“Huh,” says Rodney from the co-pilot’s seat, peering out into space for the first time. “That’s pretty cool, actually.”

John just looks at him and grins.

*o*o*o*

Three days after Rodney almost dies trying to ascend, he and John are out on what’s become their pier, sharing beers and watching the stars twinkle above the city. It’s only then that the last bit of tension leaves John, seeping away in response to the warm, living presence of his best friend beside him. 

It’s different for Rodney, of course. He’s mourning the loss of all his new-found knowledge, his super powers. He can’t understand the new math that he created, and John can see how much of a blow that is to the smartest man in two galaxies. He wishes he could give it all back to Rodney, minus the threat of imminent death.

“It’s not all gone, you know.”

John looks over at him, beer can halfway to his mouth. “No?”

“I remember…there was so much _noise_ in my head, you know?” Rodney rocks his can back and forth between his legs. “So many things just swirling around up there, and it was like I could just reach in and pluck them out. Ideas, insights.”

He gives John a look that seems significant, but in what way John doesn’t know. He takes another swallow of beer and contemplates his friend. Every feature is well known to him, Rodney’s face a familiar and well-loved landscape. It’s impossible for John to remember a time when he wasn’t in love with Rodney; it seems like forever, with all the bantering and saving each other’s lives and seeing each other at their best and worst moments. It’s his biggest and most precious secret, the one he only he takes out and examines when he’s alone.

“Thing is,” Rodney says, looking everywhere but at John. “The higher brain functions made me more aware of some…subtle things that I otherwise would’ve missed. I mean, let’s face it. I’m not the most observant person.”

John just nods. He heard about what Rodney did for Ronon, taking his scars away. It was a surprisingly thoughtful and touching gesture, one Rodney probably wouldn’t have ever thought of if he was in his right mind. Ronon himself had spoken of it only to Teyla; when John had asked him about it the big guy just shrugged, looking uncharacteristically shy.

“John.” Rodney’s voice is low and full of emotion, and when he turns his gaze to look John in the eye, John is staggered by what he sees there; everything he feels is on his face, and it’s a mirror of everything that John has suppressed in himself over the last few years.

“I thought you were going to die,” he says, surprised at himself for saying it out loud.

“I know. Me too.” Rodney reaches out and runs his fingertips along John’s jaw, making him shiver. “Thanks for trying to help me.”

“I couldn’t let you go.” John is embarrassed by the tremor in his voice and tries to drown it in more beer but Rodney takes the can from his hands and sets it aside.

“I can live without the new math, and the power converter configurations. But I can’t live without this, not anymore.”

It’s Rodney who moves in, who presses his lips to John’s. It’s John who tilts his head and opens his mouth, drawing Rodney in deeper. And all at once he has a familiar feeling in his gut and dancing along his skin. This is bigger than the sky, faster than the speed of light, more death defying than a barrel roll in an open cockpit. This is love, real love, his and Rodney’s meshed together into a whole that is so much more than anything he thought it could be.

When the kiss ends he curls up against Rodney and hides his face in the crook of Rodney’s neck. He hates talking about his feelings but tonight he can’t seem to stop the words from spilling out of his mouth.

“I’d give up the sky for you.”

Rodney just holds him. “You’ll never have to.”

That's the first time that Rodney makes John fly with nothing but the strength of his love. It isn’t the last.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **AN:** So, as the title may suggest, this was inspired by the song Defying Gravity from Wicked. I thought it would be interesting to chart John’s experience with flying and all it encompasses. And how, under the proper circumstances, love can be just as heady an experience.


	9. Try Not To Breathe

  
**Try Not To Breathe,** REM

_I will try not to burden you, I can hold these inside_  
_I will hold my breath until all these shivers subside_  
_Just look in my eyes_

_I will try not to worry you_  
_I have seen things that you will never see_  
_Leave it to memory me, I shudder to breathe_

Rodney stepped through the event horizon, feeling just a bit disoriented as he did so. It was always like that for him, like his brain was the last thing to get reassembled on the other side. Some day he planned on conducting a study comparing cognitive levels between those with frequent trips through the Gate and those who had only been through once or twice. He hated to think of the IQ points he could conceivably be losing every time he made that trip himself.

This time, though, he just couldn’t bring himself to care about it. He walked down the ramp into the SGC’s Gate Room, bag slung over his shoulder, and was unsurprised to see his sister waiting for him along with the armed Marines that greeted every off-world activation, planned or not. He should’ve known that Sam would call ahead and set that up, and he tried to be grateful even though all he wanted to do was go to his apartment and curl up in a ball on his bed for the length of his leave.

“Mer,” Jeannie said softly when he got close enough. Rodney let her fold him into a hug, though he stood there stiffly and didn’t return it. Her fingers brushed against the bandage on the back of his neck and he flinched.

“Dr. McKay. It’s nice to see you again.” Dr. Lam was waiting to escort him to the infirmary for a mandatory medical examination, to make sure he hadn’t brought any native Pegasus germs with him and to check on his stitches.

Rodney nodded and extricated himself from Jeannie’s grasp. “I won’t be long,” he said. He didn’t want her tagging along, wanted to put off her questions for just a little while. She nodded, her big blue eyes full of sadness for him that he knew he didn’t deserve. He wondered exactly what Sam had told her.

Dr. Lam was thorough in her examination, and Rodney was grateful that she kept her questions confined to his medical history. He was healthy, all things considered, and she re-bandaged his stitches after ensuring that he was infection free.

“Dr. Keller forwarded me the request for medical leave. If you find you need an extension on the two weeks just give me a call and we’ll work something out, okay?” Dr. Lam gave his shoulder a squeeze. “Things’ll seem better soon.”

Rodney didn’t bother responding to that trite cliché. He just thanked her, grabbed his bag, and headed for the surface. His debrief had been waived, since Atlantis already had a full accounting of events that they’d shared with General O’Neill. No sense beating a dead horse. Any hopes he had of slipping out unnoticed were dashed when he blinked into the bright sunshine and saw Jeannie leaning against a shiny blue rental car.

“You didn’t think you could ditch me, did you?” she asked, one eyebrow raised. “You know me better than that.”

“Jeannie,” Rodney sighed. “I want to be alone. So, thanks for coming and doing the supportive sibling thing, but really…I’m good.”

If he was honest, it didn’t matter who was around him; he’d feel alone in a stadium full of people right now. What he didn’t want was Jeannie coddling him, or pitying him, or trying to make him feel better; he didn’t want to feel better, he just wanted to wallow in his misery.

“You’re _not_ good. And I’m not leaving.” Jeannie grabbed the bag out of his hands and tossed it in the backseat of the car. “I aired out your apartment and bought groceries, so you don’t have to worry about anything.”

She opened the passenger door and then took a step to the side, an expectant look on her face. When Rodney just stared at her she softened a little.

“Come on, Mer. Let me do this for you.”

He didn’t have the strength to fight with her. Without another word he got in and shut the door, adjusting the seat. The rental was a Toyota hybrid, which was so Jeannie; saving the environment one road trip at a time. Rodney closed his eyes and was glad that his sister didn’t feel the need to make small talk on the ride to Colorado Springs. He was so tired, all he wanted to do was sleep. 

It was about an hour’s drive, mostly through the mountains, to get from the SGC to Rodney’s place. He dozed a little, and watched a bit of the scenery through the side window; he made it clear that he wasn’t interested in having a conversation and for once his sister actually paid attention and left him to his thoughts, such as they were. Mostly he was just planning the next moment, the next task. Not looking too far ahead, not looking back at all. 

Things hadn’t changed much in Colorado Springs since Rodney had been there last. There was nothing in town he particularly wanted to see, and was glad when they finally reached his complex. Jeannie hadn’t just aired the place out; it was spotlessly clean and smelled like Febreeze and furniture polish. It had been a long time since he’d been back, but there was no feeling of coming home or of pleasant familiarity. It wasn’t home to him anymore, if it ever really had been.

“Do you want something to eat?” Jeannie asked, keeping her tone soft as if she was afraid of spooking him.

Food was usually Rodney’s friend, his comfort when things were bad, but for the first time he had no interest in it at all; hadn’t, not for days.

“I’m just gonna take a nap,” he said, bypassing Jeannie and heading to his bedroom. It was all he could think about – his prescription mattress, his Egyptian cotton sheets, his big fluffy pillows.

“Mer…”

“Not now,” he said, and then closed himself in his bedroom with a sigh of relief. He kicked off his shoes and crawled into the middle of the bed. He pulled one of the pillows to his chest and hugged it tightly as he dropped off to sleep.

*o*o*o*

_Rodney couldn’t catch his breath. It felt like there was something heavy on his chest but he couldn’t see what it was; he couldn’t see anything but red. It dripped from the ceiling and the walls, puddled around his feet, lay warm and tacky on his hands. He tried to scream, tried to call for help, but the words wouldn’t come. His mouth hung open, a rictus of pain and horror, but no sounds issued forth from his dry, dry throat._

_All he could see was red, and he knew it meant the end of everything._

*o*o*o*

Rodney jerked awake, panting and shaking. He choked back the bile trying to rise up his throat, forced himself to calm down and take deep breaths, and willed his hands to stop trembling; he was getting very good at controlling his body’s responses, though he felt no pride in it. It was just a dream, just another stupid dream, and he should’ve accepted the sleeping pills Jennifer had offered him before he left, even though they made him feel so slow and sluggish the next day.

He looked at the bedside clock and saw that he’d been asleep for almost eleven hours, which he attributed to Gate lag even though he knew full well that wasn’t the cause of his exhaustion. He sat up in bed and ran a hand through his short hair. The only light in the room came from the lamppost out in the parking lot, which slanted through the partially closed blinds.

Rodney felt stupidly homesick for a long moment, yearning for the sound of waves lapping against the pier and the muted lights that came on with just a thought, but he ruthlessly pushed those thoughts away. There wasn’t any point in wishing for what he didn’t have and he refused to think about what he was going to do when his two weeks was up.

He decided to take a shower, knowing he wouldn’t be able to go back to sleep right away. He listened for Jeannie but assumed she was sleeping, so he padded across the hall into the bathroom. His toiletry bag had been set out on the sink, and he had a moment to feel guilty for how he’d been treating his sister when so far she’d only been incredibly thoughtful on his behalf.

Rodney turned the shower on as hot as he could stand it and stepped in, pleased to feel the way his skin immediately prickled under the onslaught. The bandage on the back of his neck was waterproof, which was good because he had no desire to ask Jeannie’s help in changing it; he had no memory of the damage he’d done to himself there and couldn’t bear to see the pity that would undoubtedly be in her eyes.

_Rodney? Hey, buddy. You okay?_

He held his breath, all of his muscles tensing until that whisper of memory had been successfully banished. Tears burned behind his eyes but he refused to let them fall. It didn’t seem fair that he couldn’t even let his guard down in the shower.

“Mer? You okay?”

Rodney flinched, caught by surprise. Clearly there would be no respite from his sister, even when he was naked. He was glad for the dark blue shower curtain, though he suspected one that was completely see-through wouldn’t have deterred her in the slightest; she’d always had difficulty with personal boundaries, particularly his.

“Go away.”

“Are you hungry? I made pig-n-tater casserole.”

That gave Rodney pause. That casserole had been one of their childhood favorites, the best comfort food ever. Most people called it scalloped ham but Jeannie had given it that ridiculous name when she was just three and it had stuck. He hadn’t had much of an appetite the last few days but suddenly he felt hungry. 

“Yeah. Okay, that sounds good. Will it get you out of the bathroom or shall I subject you to my nakedness?”

“You can spare me that, thanks,” Jeannie said dryly. “I’ll heat up a plate for you.”

Rodney waited until he heard the bathroom door snick shut before he turned off the water and got out of the shower. He toweled dry, carefully patting the bandage on his neck, and wrapped the towel around his waist. He had no desire to put his traveling clothes back on, and hoped Jeannie had put his bag in his room. He cracked the door and peeked out into the hall; when he saw it was all clear he darted back into his room, feeling like he was twelve years old again and not in a good way.

Luckily his bag was at the foot of the bed and he changed into sweats and his old Doctor Who t-shirt. They were comfortable, stay-in clothes and that’s exactly what Rodney planned to do for the next two weeks – stay in. He wandered barefoot out to the kitchen and his mouth started watering as soon as he smelled the casserole.

“When’s the last time you ate a real meal?” Jeannie asked, setting a heaped-up plate on the table. “You’re too thin.”

“I don’t think that’ll ever be an issue for me, but thanks.” Rodney sat down and immediately started shoveling food in his mouth. He was gratified to find that the ham was from an actual pig and not a soybean derivative. Jeannie sat down across from him with a cup of tea.

“You are, though,” she insisted. “Every time I see you, you look different. Leaner. You have an edge you never had before you went to Atlantis.”

“Life in a battle zone,” he said around a mouthful of cheesy potatoes. Years of running from Wraith and angry natives, of doing without regular meals so that he could crawl around Ancient consoles and save the day, had certainly had an effect on his physicality. But there was only so far that could go when someone was as big boned as he was.

“Sam told me…she said you went through something traumatic.” Jeannie sounded tentative, which didn’t sit well on her. Rodney ignored her and just ate that much quicker. He didn’t want to have this conversation, not now and not any time later.

“She didn’t say what, exactly, but…you can talk to me, Mer. Let me help you.”

_Rodney… what…did they do to you?_

Rodney’s stomach heaved and he barely made it to the bathroom before the pig-n-tater came back up. He was barely aware of Jeannie’s presence, of the cool washcloth she kept pressed to his neck as his digestive tract rejected everything he’d put in it, seemingly from the last five days. By the time he finished he was clammy and weak, lying on the floor with his cheek pressed to the tile.

“I’m so sorry,” Jeannie said softly. She sat next to him, her back against the sink, and ran her fingers through his hair; it was something he’d always found soothing. “I didn’t mean to push.”

Rodney just lay there, shivering, and waited for the pain in his chest to go away.

*o*o*o*

Rodney spent the next day in bed, refusing all of Jeannie’s gambits to get up and do something productive. No, he didn’t want to go window shopping in town. No, he didn’t want to sit outside and get some fresh air. No, he didn’t want to watch any of the new Doctor Who episodes. After a while she got the message and let him be, coming in only to bring him tea and broth and ginger ale to calm his stomach. 

He slept a lot, long chunks of time that just made him feel wrung out when he woke up. He messed around with Sudoku puzzles from a book Jeannie gave him, he stared up at the ceiling and followed the whorls of spackle, and he wished he was back on Atlantis where things were familiar, before everything had gone to hell and he’d lost it all. 

For the first time he wished he’d said a proper goodbye to his friends. He’d only told Sam and Jennifer and Radek he was leaving, and only because it was protocol. Jennifer had to recommend the leave and Sam had to sign off on it and set up his departure with the SGC. Radek was the only one who’d argued with him, the only one who told him he was making a mistake. Nothing he said would’ve made any difference, not then and probably not now; Rodney hadn’t been able to stay, hadn’t been able to withstand Teyla’s attempts to make him feel better or Ronon’s somber understanding. If only someone had gotten angry with him, screamed at him, said all the things he was thinking anyway, maybe it would’ve changed things.

He was sure his inability to accept the kindness of his friends was some sort of genetic flaw, one that four years of living and fighting and working with an honestly decent group of people hadn’t been able to break him of. He should’ve known something that good couldn’t last.

Jeannie knocked on the door and stuck her head in. “Oh, good. You’re awake.”

“No, I’m not.” Rodney rolled over and pulled a pillow over his head. He wished he could just hold his breath until it all faded away, instead of just making him pass out. It was something he used to try when he was a kid, when his parents had reached the height of their dysfunctional relationship and imploded. It never worked then and he was fairly certain it wouldn’t work now. It was nice to think of it, though; everything just fading painlessly to black.

He felt the mattress dip down when Jeannie sat beside him and twitched away from the hand she placed on his back. He didn’t want any touchy-feely nonsense, not from his sister or anyone else.

“You can’t stay in bed all day,” Jeannie admonished, though with none of her usual bite. “You’re not an invalid or a shut-in or crazy Mrs. Epstein.”

“She gave out Poligrip at Halloween,” Rodney mumbled into the mattress.

“That’s right. She had the mailbox on the pulley, remember? So she never had to go outside.”

Rodney flopped over on his back, one arm over his eyes. “I’m not crazy Mrs. Epstein.”

“No, you’re not. Which is why you need to get up and get out of this apartment.” Jeannie slapped him lightly on the belly. “Come on. We’re going out for a walk while it’s still light out.”

He sighed but did as he was told, spending several minutes brushing the film from his teeth and picking through his limited wardrobe for jeans. Jeannie’s idea turned out to be a good one; it was warm out, with a light breeze, and the physical activity felt good after all the sleeping he’d done. He’d never admit it, of course.

“How’s Madison?” Rodney asked as they headed up Costilla Street towards South Hancock and the park. He was very likely the worst brother ever for not asking sooner; he knew it must be difficult for Jeannie to be away from home. It was a feeling he could certainly relate to.

“She’s great. Having fun with Caleb, doing father-daughter things.” Jeannie smiled but Rodney, who’d somehow grown more attuned to those kinds of things in recent years, could hear the longing in her voice.

He stopped walking and grabbed hold of her hand. “You should go home. Seriously. I’m fine. You should be with your family.”

“You’re my family too, Mer.” Jeannie leaned in to press a quick kiss to his cheek. “I don’t see you enough. And when I do there’s almost always a crisis involved.”

They started walking again, hand-in-hand this time. He wondered what it would be like, taking a leisurely stroll with his team. No TAC vests, no weapons at the ready, no need to constantly scan for aggressive fauna or dangerous natives. He wished they’d had the chance to do that, even though he knew he would’ve complained about being outdoors. It was true, he thought. You don’t know what you’ve got till it’s gone.

Rodney’s throat was suddenly tight and he pulled his hand from Jeannie’s. “I’ve had quite enough fresh air. You can stay out here if you want but I’m going back.”

He suited actions to words, turning on his heel and heading back towards the apartment. He clenched his jaw and fisted his hands, trying to keep from making an unmanly display. He didn’t know if Jeannie was following and he didn’t care.

_Put the knife down! I won’t ask again!_

“Shut up!” Rodney said aloud, his teeth grinding together. He didn’t want to think about it, didn’t want to go through it again. Jennifer had insisted he see the City shrink, the one who’d replaced Heightmeyer after her dive from the balcony, but Rodney didn’t like the new guy. It wasn’t like he’d worried about getting cleared for duty, not when he knew he’d be leaving.

His relief was incalculable when the apartment complex came into view. He fumbled the key out of his pocket and it took several tries to get the door unlocked. He made straight for the bedroom, stripping as he went, and fell into bed in just his boxers. He was asleep by the time Jeannie made it back.

*o*o*o*

_Rodney could feel it, burning like a brand in the back of his neck. He tried to reach it, tried to claw it out, but he couldn’t make his arms work properly; they felt numb, like he’d fallen asleep on them. But he had to get it out because something bad, something unthinkable, was going to happen. Rodney tried harder but still…nothing. He screamed in frustration, but there was no-one to hear._

*o*o*o*

Rodney was listless the next morning. He let himself be man-handled out of bed but only picked at the eggs Jeannie’d made him. He watched several episodes of original Star Trek but didn’t really pay any attention to them. Not even the ridiculous Tribble episode could drag him out of his funk.

He wanted to go home.

His apartment was an empty, dead thing. Thanks to the gene therapy he was one of the few who were able to experience Atlantis as a living thing, a nearly sentient city. She was like a constant hum in the back of his head, a pleasant warmth under his hand whenever he touched a wall or a console. Being on Earth was like going through withdrawal, something he had a passing familiarity with.

Finally Jeannie gave up and turned the TV off with a sigh. “Can I ask you something? Something…difficult?”

Rodney stared at the blank screen, giving no indication he’d even heard her. He knew she deserved an explanation but talking about what happened…he just wasn’t sure he could do it. He hadn’t had to give a verbal report to Sam; she’d accepted his written account, supplemented by Teyla’s recounting, and Ronon’s. Teyla had coerced him into talking about it in private, just the two of them, and even then he hadn’t been able to get through the whole thing.

“Mer,” Jeannie said, her voice little more than a whisper. “Is John…did he die?”

Rodney couldn’t help it – he laughed and it was a sharp, harsh sound. Jeannie stared at him, her expression alarmed and maybe a little scared. Something in his expression must’ve confirmed her assumption, because she quickly morphed into sad and supportive.

“Oh, Mer. I’m so sorry.” She rubbed a hand up and down his back, while the other clutched at his knee.

Rodney dragged an arm across his face, and when he spoke his voice was thick. “He’s not dead.”

“Then what? What the hell _happened_ out there?”

“It was me,” Rodney choked. “And no matter how hard I try I can’t forget it. I can’t fix it. All I could do was leave.”

Parts of what had happened were fuzzy still, or completely gone. But the worst of it was painfully clear in his mind and probably always would be.

“We were off world,” he explained to Jeannie, though his gaze remained fixed on the TV. “I was kidnapped. Again. I don’t know why it’s always me; maybe they can sense I’m the weakest, I don’t know.

“They were Wraith worshippers,” he said, his tone clearly expressing what he thought of that particular brand of Pegasus bottom feeder. “They implanted something in my neck. When Radek finally got a look at it he said he _thought_ it might be Replicator tech.”

Rodney tried to sound derisive, like he always was when discussing lesser scientists, but his heart wasn’t in it. Truth was he couldn’t examine the device himself, couldn’t stand to even be in the same room with it. He reached back, fingers tracing the edge of the bandage.

He’d dug the device out of his own neck before Jennifer could do it properly. Teyla had to tell him about it because that was one of his missing memories. She said he’d been in a cold rage, had grabbed a scalpel, reached around, and started cutting before anyone could stop him. He didn’t tell Jeannie that part.

“What did they do to you?” she asked, her voice hushed and eyes wide.

“They didn’t even want me. Smartest man in two galaxies and all they needed me for was bait.”

“They wanted John,” Jeannie guessed.

Rodney nodded. Somehow the Wraith, or maybe just their homicidal sycophants, got the idea that John Sheppard was the biggest threat to their continued existence. Kill him and Pegasus once more becomes a free-range buffet.

Rodney had been their weapon.

*o*o*o*

_He lay on the floor of the cell, cold and paralyzed, his cheek pressed against the dirt. His neck throbbed from the surgery he’d been through. They’d put something inside him, something that made his limbs unresponsive. He couldn’t move, couldn’t speak, not unless someone elsewhere in the complex gave the remote order to do so. They’d already tested it, making Rodney feel sickly like a marionette without the strings, a horribly animated puppet._

_They’d positioned him just so in the cell and then they waited. Rodney waited, swamped with fear, for the rescue he knew was coming; for the first time ever he wished that, just this once, John wouldn’t find him._

_It was a wish that went unfulfilled. Rodney estimated that he’d been lying there for three or four hours before the explosions started. In his mind he was screaming, trying to warn his team, but his mouth remained stubbornly closed. There was a burst of gunfire very close by; his unresponsive body didn’t so much as twitch at the sound of it._

_“Rodney!” John was there, right outside the cell, and Rodney could feel his heart racing._ Go back! Stay away! _There was no way to warn him._

_“I’ve got Rodney! Get down here, he looks bad!” John barked, sending orders through his ear piece._

_Rodney heard the bolt slide back, listened with dread as the door creaked open. John was suddenly beside him, on his knees; he set his P-90 down in Rodney’s eyeline_. No! _Rodney was in a full-blown panic attack, though he knew none of it showed on the outside._

_“Rodney? Hey, buddy. You okay?”_

_He could feel John’s hands on him, checking for injuries. And then he rolled Rodney over, his expression switching rapidly from concern to confusion to wide-eyed surprise. It was an excellent plan, really, because John wasn’t expecting danger to come from his presumably injured colleague; his best friend._

_John saw the knife too late to react, and Rodney could feel and see and hear everything with crystal clarity as his arm moved independently of his mind, driving the long blade into John’s side where the vest was held together by straps that left vulnerable areas unprotected. The Wraith worshippers knew just where to hit John most effectively but it was Rodney holding the knife. It was Rodney gripping John’s shoulder with one hand and driving the knife in a second time._

_John made a pained sound and managed to scuttle backwards till he hit the wall, one hand pressed to his side and already covered with blood. The same blood Rodney could feel on his own hand as he was made to stand and advance. In his head he screamed over and over, but he never made a sound._

I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I’m sorry!

_“Rodney,” John wheezed, blood on his lips. “What…did they do to you?”_

_He couldn’t answer, of course. He focused all his attention on the knife still clutched in his hand, willing it to turn. He’d rather stab himself than deal John another blow, but nothing could override the device in his neck._

_And then the cavalry arrived as Teyla and Ronon burst into the cell, weapons drawn. Teyla hesitated, trying to make sense of the scene, but Ronon immediately swung his blaster towards Rodney._

_“Put the knife down! I won’t ask again!”_

Please! _Rodney screamed soundlessly at him._ Do it! Stop me!

_Incredibly John raised his hand, which was shaking. “Don’t…shoot.” ___

_Teyla requested immediate medical attention, and John tried to tell Ronon not to fire, but Rodney wouldn’t be stopped. He raised the knife, sickened at the sight of John’s blood on the blade, and then he heard the sound of Ronon’s weapon and saw a brief flash of light. He had time to think_ Thank God! _before he lost consciousness._

____

*o*o*o*

“It was probably the blast from Ronon’s gun that short-circuited the device,” Rodney said. His voice was raspy from talking, and trembling with emotion.

He’d nearly killed his best friend, and the fact that he’d been under the influence of mind control hardly seemed to matter. There was no way John would be able to trust him, not after that. Hell, he didn’t even trust _himself_.

“And John?” Jeannie asked. She was holding both of Rodney’s hands and her eyes were bright with tears.

“Jennifer said he’d pull through. I waited…I didn’t leave till I knew for sure.” He’d denied himself the privilege of keeping bedside vigil; he wasn’t worthy of it anymore.

Teyla had tried to talk to him. She’d explained that it had been clear he wasn’t himself; when they’d found him in the cell his face had been a complete blank, no emotion at all in his eyes. It wasn’t his fault, she’d said, it could’ve been any of them. But it hadn’t been. It had been Rodney.

Ronon apologized for almost killing him. John’s entreaty had made him switch the blaster from _kill_ to _stun_ , and Rodney had come right out and told him he wished Ronon had left it on the first setting. The response had been a hearty slap on the back and Ronon’s assurances that sometimes bad shit happened and you couldn’t dwell on it.

“Have you talked to John at all?”

Rodney shook his head. “He was still heavily sedated when I left. Besides, what’s there to say? Sorry I punctured your lung? Sorry I let myself get captured and turned into some death-dealing tool specially designed for you?”

His voice got higher and more hysterical until he cracked, folding in on himself and crying in earnest. He grieved for the friendship he’d most certainly destroyed, and for his home that was a whole galaxy away. 

“Oh, Mer.” Jeannie curled around him, cried with him, and held on tight enough to remind him he wasn’t alone.

“I miss him,” he cried miserably.

*o*o*o*

Rodney felt husked out, his head throbbing just a little, when he went to bed. He didn’t think he’d be able to fall asleep, not after recounting the whole horrible incident, but he dropped right off and for once the nightmares were absent.

He woke the next morning feeling refreshed and itching to get his hands on a laptop. He hadn’t brought one with him from Atlantis and regretted that now. Rodney could put up with a great many things but being technologically cut off wasn’t one of them. A quick call to the SGC took care of that; they promised to send someone as soon as possible with the requested equipment.

“You look better,” Jeannie remarked when he ventured out for breakfast.

“Are those pancakes? I’m starving.” Rodney helped himself to a big mug of coffee and sat at the table. Jeannie handed him a stack of pancakes, which he promptly drowned in maple syrup – the real kind, not that processed crap they sold in the stores.

“Geez, take a breath Mer.” Jeannie joined him with a much smaller stack of pancakes. They were delicious even without chocolate chips, and Rodney chose to ignore the fact that they were whole wheat.

“I’ll need to get some work done today,” he said between bites. “My projects are getting woefully behind.”

Jeannie paused, fork halfway to her mouth. “So you’re going back then?”

Rodney choked on his coffee. “What? No! Didn’t you listen to a word I said yesterday?”

He could feel a panic attack trying to claw its way to the forefront but he fought it down. He couldn’t go back to Atlantis, not after what he did. He’d never be able to stay on John’s team; hell, he’d be lucky if the man could stand being in the same room with him. And he didn’t want everyone’s pity, or their derision; he just couldn’t face that.

“So that’s it? You’re going to give up everything good that’s happened to you over something that wasn’t even your fault?”

“I won’t be used like that again,” Rodney replied heatedly. He dropped his fork, his appetite gone. “What they did to me…you don’t…”

He couldn’t make himself say it, couldn’t explain that those Wraith worshippers had essentially mind-raped him. He felt violated, betrayed by his own body, his own intellect. He was tired of being the weak link, tired of having to be rescued; they’d never have gotten Ronon that way. In Atlantis he was a liability, on Earth he was just another egghead.

“You think John blames you?” Jeannie had a flinty look in her eyes, which didn’t bode well. Rodney knew he shouldn’t answer honestly but what was the point of lying? She knew him too well.

“Yes,” he whispered. “They _all_ should.”

He pushed away from the table, leaving yet another mess for Jeannie to clean up, and went outside to get some fresh air and wait for his laptop delivery.

*o*o*o*

Rodney left Atlantis in a hurry but he hadn’t gone completely empty-handed; tucked in his bag was a flash drive and he wasted no time plugging it into the secure laptop that had arrived via Marine escort from the SGC. Whatever lab tech had set it up for him had included a note letting him know it contained the latest data burst from Atlantis in case he was interested in checking it out. He was, and he wasn’t.

He went first to the password-protected, encrypted folder on the flash drive that held selected frames from the security camera feeds. Rodney had been collecting them for some time, grainy moments that, when put together, represented the new life he’d made for himself a whole galaxy away. He wasn’t normally that sentimental but he was glad he had them.

Rodney’s favorite was one from a random movie night. The still shot caught him in the act of explaining something, his arms in mid-gesture, while John smirked back at him. Teyla had her head back, laughing, trying to keep the popcorn away from Ronon’s grabby hands. That was life in the Pegasus galaxy – little moments of happiness and normalcy sandwiched between chaos and loss.

There were other moments saved: Elizabeth leaning on the railing in the Gate Room; John and Ronon jogging; Lorne’s team going off world; Radek painted up with feathers in his hair after visiting M7G-677; Carson grinning in the Mess; Cadman standing in the Jumper Bay. Pictures of home, which only made the ache in his chest throb even more.

Rodney closed the file and stared at the SGC logo that served as desktop wallpaper. He wanted to read the data burst but he was pretty sure he wasn’t ready for that. If there was bad news…well, it could certainly wait. He could only assume that if something catastrophic had happened that he’d be notified. Or beamed right out of his apartment.

Instead he opened his ZPM project and soon lost himself in the uncluttered simplicity of equations and calculations. He was close to figuring out a way to recharge a drained ZPM and maybe with all the downtime he now had he could make some forward progress. If he was successful it would be a real boon to the City, and the safety of everyone who lived there.

Just because he couldn’t be there didn’t mean he’d shirk his responsibilities.

*o*o*o*

Two days later Jeannie pulled him bodily away from his simulations and the white board covered with complex equations, and threatened him with violence if he didn’t take a shower and get out of the apartment for a little while.

“You can’t force it,” she told him.

“But…”

“But me no buts,” she said, giving him a shove towards the bathroom. “I fixed you some lunch; eat it. I’m going to the Ghost Town Museum.”

“Fine. Go. Whatever.”

“I’m taking the markers and the laptop cords with me,” Jeannie sing-songed on her way out the door.

“You can’t!”

“I can. Go wash. You smell.”

Rodney sighed, knowing there was no way to change Jeannie’s mind when she got on a tear. Of course, he was a genius and had anticipated such a move; he had back-ups stashed in his room.

Still, it was good to take a break and so he showered and wolfed down the egg salad sandwiches Jeannie had made. He was driven to solve the ZPM problem even more so now that he wasn’t going back to Atlantis; it was like the ultimate apology, the only way he could make up for what he did to John, and for leaving everyone behind.

Rodney worked steadily for two hours, running simulations and cursing when they repeatedly failed. When someone started knocking on the front door he ignored it; it wasn’t like he had friends that would randomly be stopping by, even if he’d told anyone he was going to be in town. He figured it was probably Jehovah Witnesses or salesmen, someone not worth his time.

When the knocking turned to pounding he scowled. “No solicitors!” he shouted.

“McKay! Open up!”

Rodney dropped the marker he’d been holding when he heard Ronon’s voice shouting back at him. He stood rooted to the spot, panic washing over him in a wave. Why was Ronon on Earth? Unless…unless it was to bring him bad news, like John had taken a turn for the worse and died. Oh, God, had he really and truly killed him?

“I’ll knock it down,” Ronon threatened.

That finally got Rodney moving and he approached the door with his heart in his throat. He turned the deadbolt and swung the door open, but it wasn’t Ronon’s massive presence that he noticed first.

“You look awful,” he blurted out, hand clenching painfully on the doorknob.

John stood on his doorstep, pale and drawn, favoring his right side. He was wearing one of his ubiquitous black t-shirts and a pair of jeans.

“Should you be out of the infirmary? How the hell did Jennifer let you leave in your condition? You look like you could fall down any second.” Rodney was aware that he was babbling but he couldn’t make himself stop, couldn’t give John an opportunity to open his mouth and say…anything. “Should I call someone? Are you AWOL? This is going to negatively impact your career – are you trying to get sent back to Antarctica? What… _mmph_.”

Ronon clapped his hand across Rodney’s mouth, and used it to push him backwards. Rodney let himself be moved, eyes wide, his mouth hanging open when Ronon let him go and ushered John in.

“Hey, McKay.”

“Oh, right. Of course. Sorry,” Rodney said when Ronon got John settled on the couch, a pillow sandwiched between his arm and his injury.

“McKay. Shut up.”

His jaw snapped closed, teeth clicking. Despite his ragged condition John’s voice sounded normal enough. Rodney stood there nervously, unsure what he was supposed to do, or what to expect. Whatever John had to say to him he’d take it; he deserved the other man’s censure, even welcomed it, but that didn’t mean it wouldn’t hurt just the same.

“Sit down,” Ronon said, pushing on Rodney’s shoulder until he sank into the arm chair next to the couch. “You got any food?”

The big guy wandered into the kitchen and started going through the cupboards. Rodney stared down at his hands, which were covered in black smudges from the marker.

“You planning on coming back?” John asked, getting right to the point.

Rodney shook his head. “No.”

John sighed, which brought unexpected tears to Rodney’s eyes. He’d thought he’d never see his friend again and having him here was difficult, to say the least. He wanted to apologize and beg forgiveness, but he couldn’t think of anything he could say or do to make things up. He’d almost _killed_ John. Would have, if Ronon hadn’t stunned him. There wasn’t an _I’m Sorry_ big enough.

“I know how it feels,” John said softly. Rodney looked up, found himself caught in John’s gaze.

“What?”

“When I was…changing. Into the bug. I…assaulted Teyla.” The shame of it was clear in his voice, on his face.

Rodney thought back, recalled how it felt to watch his best friend literally turn into a monster. He’d read John’s report, after, but he didn’t remember seeing anything in there about Teyla. He told John as much.

“I couldn’t. I just wanted to forget it. And I didn’t want Teyla to be questioned about it either.”

“But…you never gave any indication.”

It was John’s turn to shrug. “Like I said, I wasn’t proud of it. Teyla forgave me. I was at the mercy of Iratus DNA. Bug instincts. My brain chemistry was all screwed up. _I wasn’t myself_.”

Rodney blinked at that, and then looked away. He could see what John was trying to say; there was a clear parallel between his experience and Rodney’s. Still, assault was one thing. Murder was something else.

“How can you even stand being in the same room as me?” he whispered. “What I did…”

“It wasn’t your fault, Rodney. I know what they did to you.”

“He watched the feed,” Ronon said helpfully, scooping a handful of Chex mix out of the box.

Rodney stared at him, which was easier than looking at John. “What feed?”

“Security camera,” Ronon replied, and tapped the back of his neck.

Rodney paled. He hadn’t realized his DIY surgery had been caught by the cameras, though of course it had been – everything was. The idea of it being public, of anyone watching him lose his mind like that, made him a little sick. He had no memory of the event himself but that didn’t mean he needed to see it. If he was still in the City he’d have deleted the damn thing.

“It was a fucked up situation,” John said, drawing Rodney’s attention. “There wasn’t anything you could’ve done.”

That wasn’t true. Rodney knew if he’d been stronger, if he’d been tougher, he could’ve fought back. He’d always thought he had the best mind in two galaxies but it had been so easily subjugated. He couldn’t believe that John could just sit there and forgive him, like he’d only caused him a momentary discomfort.

“So that’s it, then?” he snapped. “You forgive me and we all forget that I _stabbed_ you? That you almost _died_ because of me?”

Rodney got to his feet, hands clenched at his sides. “Well I can’t forget and I wish someone had the guts to just…just _tell_ me that it was my fault! I was the weak one, the liability, and I’m tired of hearing how _blameless_ I am!

John scowled at him. “And there’s the ego. _I’m_ the one who got knifed and still this is somehow all about you!”

Rodney’s heart pounded, and he was so relieved to finally have someone raise their voice to him that he almost did something undignified. “Just another day for you, Colonel, another suicide mission. Because you just jump in without looking, always, and sooner or later this was _bound _/ to happen!”__

__John struggled to his feet. “Well excuse me if I wasn’t expecting my teammate to turn into a homicidal maniac!”_ _

__“Is it too much to ask that the military _leader_ of the expedition show a little discretion from time to time? You had no idea what those people did to me. I could’ve been rigged with a _bomb_!”_ _

__“What’s going on?” Jeannie asked, sounding alarmed. Rodney hadn’t heard her come in and paid her little attention now. His blood was singing in his veins and he felt more like himself then he had in days._ _

__“They’re working stuff out,” Ronon explained._ _

__“And I expect that my CSO won’t go running home just because he’s too embarrassed to show his face,” John countered._ _

__“Hey!” Jeannie protested._ _

__“My mistake for being considerate of your feelings. I forgot you don’t have any.”_ _

__“And I forgot what a selfish prick you can be,” John sneered._ _

__“Jackass.”_ _

__“Moron.”_ _

__For the first time in days Rodney felt a smile spreading across his face. John grinned back at him, then winced when he moved wrong. Rodney was at his side in a flash._ _

__“Sit back down, you idiot. Did you pull your stitches? How did Jennifer even let you out?” He helped John ease back down and sat beside him, ignoring Jeannie’s mutterings about stupid males._ _

__“I didn’t give her much choice,” John admitted. “I had to see Dr. Lam and go a round with the healing glove first.”_ _

__“You were worried about me.” It never ceased to surprise Rodney that people actually cared about him. John bumped him with his shoulder._ _

__“It wasn’t your fault, Rodney. Really.”_ _

__“I know,” he replied. “It’s just…it’s all so clear, you know? I kept trying to warn you, and stop myself, but I couldn’t.”_ _

__His throat was tight and he closed his eyes, feeling ridiculous. He and John didn’t do feelings and he didn’t want to appear unmanly. John just put an arm around his shoulders and gave him a squeeze._ _

__“I know you did, buddy. I’m sorry I didn’t have your back. I shouldn’t have let you get taken in the first place.”_ _

__“Don’t be stupid.”_ _

__“You’re the one being stupid. Please come home.” John whispered the last part and looked anxious for Rodney’s response._ _

__Rodney made a study of his hands, watching as they started to tremble. He could feel the panic attack coming and this time he didn’t think he could stop it. He wanted nothing more than to go back to Atlantis and get on with his life like nothing had happened, but he knew it wouldn’t work. Everyone knew what had happened, they’d look at him differently or treat him differently. And despite John’s assertions there was no way they could restore the team; just the thought of going back out in the field made Rodney’s stomach knot painfully._ _

__“Mer…” Jeannie started to say but Rodney didn’t stick around to hear the rest. He got to his feet so quickly he stumbled and almost fell right in John’s lap._ _

__“Rodney…”_ _

__“I can’t,” he choked out. He dodged around the sofa and nearly ran down the hall to his bedroom. He slammed the door behind him and thumbed the lock; it wouldn’t keep Ronon out but it made him feel a little better. Rodney pressed his forehead against the door and struggled to control his breathing._ _

__He could hear murmured conversation, and then the front door closing. He sincerely hoped that everyone had left; he needed the quiet to get himself under control. He needed to be strong enough to say goodbye to John._ _

__Rodney remained pressed to the door, palms flat against it, as his breathing finally returned to normal. The panic attack receded, and he was reaching toward the lock when he heard footsteps in the hall. No doubt Jeannie had stayed behind to make sure he was okay and while he appreciated the sentiment he really wanted to be alone._ _

__“I’m fine, Jeannie,” he called through the door. “Go away.”_ _

__“I’m not going away, McKay,” John replied. The footsteps stopped and Rodney could practically feel him standing on the other side of the door. “Jeannie is showing Ronon around Colorado Springs.”_ _

__“That shouldn’t take long,” Rodney said disdainfully, but his heart really wasn’t in it. He didn’t want to talk to John, didn’t want to have to withstand another emotional battering._ _

__“I thought we worked this out. You have to come back, Rodney.”_ _

__Rodney shook his head, even though he knew John couldn’t see him. “You’re not thinking clearly. We can’t go back to the way things were before.” Oh, but he wanted too, so badly. The downside of being a genius was that he could follow the logic, he could see that what he’d had before his abduction was gone._ _

__“Maybe I don’t want to go back,” John replied defensively._ _

__Rodney stared at the door, as if he could see through it and examine the expression on John’s face. “Then why are you here?”_ _

__“I’m not going back without you.” He sounded absolutely resolute, a tone that Rodney was more than familiar with. It was John’s leave-no-man-behind voice, his absolute refusal to admit defeat._ _

__“You’re not…”_ _

__“Shut up, Rodney,” John said quite distinctly._ _

__“Who the _hell_ …”_ _

__“Shut up!” There was a loud thump on the door and Rodney imagined that John had smacked his hand against it. Rodney took a step back, surprised. John sounded enraged._ _

__“You think you’re the only one who’s suffering here? Poor Dr. McKay. No-one understands you. Smartest man in two galaxies and you don’t know _shit_.”_ _

__Rodney pressed his lips tightly together. This is what he’d wanted earlier, the anger and recrimination, but he’d barely gotten the edge of it before. This was real, there was no undercurrent of amusement or understanding this time. John Sheppard was pissed._ _

__“Do you know what it was like to look for you for days, and then find you in that cell like a corpse? Or to watch you cut yourself open? That hurt worse than the fucking knife in my side, McKay. It’s my job to look out for my team and I failed.”_ _

__Rodney opened his mouth and then shut it again. He didn’t know what to say to that, how to respond. He knew John took his responsibilities seriously, knew he carried all his failures with him – justified or not – like marbles in his pockets, and wondered what was going to happen when he ran out of room for them all._ _

__“I don’t want Atlantis without you,” John said, his words sounding brittle now. “I don’t want you to leave because I screwed up.”_ _

__“Stop being so damned noble,” Rodney snapped. “You think you can save everyone, but you _can’t_. No-one can! You didn’t defend yourself from me at all, John. You would’ve let me kill you if Ronon hadn’t intervened, and how would I be able to live with myself? Tell me that!”_ _

__He felt like a fool, like he was admitting out loud that he wasn’t coping. He wasn’t able to man up and accept the way things were. The work on the ZPM simulations was a stop-gap; he wasn’t any better than when he’d come through the Gate days ago. How could he explain to John that the Wraith worshippers had taken something from him he didn’t think he’d ever get back? His confidence in himself had been all but destroyed in a way not even Project Arcturus had been able to do._ _

__“You don’t see it, do you?” To Rodney’s ears John’s words sounded mocking. “You never notice anything important, despite that big brain you can’t stop talking about.”_ _

__“That’s not fair!” Rodney shot back._ _

__“Isn’t it? I try so hard to keep you out of trouble, stop you from blindly getting into bad situations, and you…”_ _

__“Sorry I’m such a problem.” Rodney crossed his arms. He was hurt and angry and a little vindicated that someone finally admitted what he’d known all along – he wasn’t cut out for field work. “I _told_ you I can’t go offworld with you anymore. I know I’m a liability.”_ _

__“Jesus Christ, Rodney!” There was another thump on the door. “You’re un-fucking-believable, do you know that? You’re _not_ a liability! I don’t watch out for you because you’re some weak link in the team. I do it because…because…”_ _

__“Because what?” Rodney asked, defiant. “Because I’m so goddamn useful in a fight? Because I get along so well with the natives?”_ _

__“Because I love you!” John shouted._ _

__Without thinking Rodney unlocked the door and yanked it open, furious and scared and filled with disbelief._ _

__“What the hell kind of thing is that to say?” he snapped. “You can’t…that’s just…what’s _wrong_ with you?”_ _

__He didn’t know what kind of mind game John was trying to play with him but he didn’t appreciate it. Had he noticed Rodney watching him, when he thought he was being so sneaky and sly about it? He’d thought better of John; a frontal attack was more his style, not this sideways assault._ _

__John’s face was flushed. “That’s what I keep asking myself.” He grabbed hold of Rodney’s shirt and hauled him across the threshold. Rodney pulled his fists up, ready to defend himself, but then John was kissing him, a firm and insistent press of lips that left him shaken and confused._ _

__“I don’t understand,” he said, pulling back as far as John would let him; it wasn’t far._ _

__“I don’t want things to go back the way they were,” John said softly, the tips of his ears turning pink. “And I don’t want to go home without you. You’re important, Rodney, and not just to the mission.”_ _

__Rodney rested his head on John’s shoulder, just so he didn’t have to look at his hopeful, earnest expression. “I almost killed you.”_ _

__“No. _They_ almost killed me. And they hurt you. I knew it wasn’t you. Do you understand? I _knew_.”_ _

He could hear an echo of John’s voice in his head. _What did they do to you?_ He hadn’t really registered it at the time, but now he could see the truth of it. Even through the pain and fear and shock of being stabbed, John had known that Rodney wasn’t himself, wasn’t doing what he did of his own volition. It didn’t change what happened, but it changed Rodney’s perception just a little. Maybe it was enough. 

__Rodney let out one shuddering breath and then another, clutching John tightly while still being mindful of his injury. The combination of emotional overload and lack of sleep left him unexpectedly exhausted and he sagged a bit in John’s arms._ _

__“It’s okay, buddy. I’ve got you.”_ _

____

*o*o*o*

_The Gate Room was filled to capacity, everyone wearing black arm bands on their uniforms. The atmosphere was somber; no-one whispered, though a few people were sniffling. The Marines stood at attention, eyes front, all of them looking pressed and polished, their faces betraying nothing of how they were feeling._

_On a raised dais in front of the Gate itself, positioned in the dangerous splashback zone, was a shrouded body. When the Gate was activated the initial whoosh of the wormhole engaging would disintegrate the body and the dais, making for extremely tidy body removal; no fuss, no muss._

_“Lieutenant Colonel John Sheppard was a good man,” Sam said from the top of the stairs. “He was sometimes reckless with his own life, but he saved ours time and time again. John was the only thing standing between us and certain annihilation, and now that he’s gone we will have to abandon Atlantis and flee back to Earth, with our tails between our legs. And we owe all that to Dr. Rodney McKay.”_

_Rodney was pushed forward until he was in the middle of a sea of angry, disappointed faces. There were boos and someone even threw an LDS at him, winging him in the shoulder._

_“I didn’t mean it!” he cried, trying to be heard above the rising tide of angry voices. “I didn’t mean it!”_

_“We will all be going back to Earth,” Sam continued, seemingly oblivious to the raging mass below her. “All but you, Rodney. We can’t trust you, no-one can.”_

_She raised her hand and the wormhole engaged; John’s body was gone in a blue flash. The entirety of Atlantis, still muttering imprecations towards Rodney, began moving towards the Gate. One by one they stepped through until only Sam was left._

_“Goodbye, Rodney,” she said with a little shake of her head. Then she was gone too. Rodney found himself unable to move, unable to get to the Gate himself and go with the others. And then it shut back down, and the lights went out._

_Finally freed from his paralysis, Rodney ran up the stairs to the main console. He tried to dial out but the entire system was unresponsive. And he understood in that moment that Atlantis had left him as well. He was trapped in an empty city with no way to get out, no way to go home, and not one person to offer him so much as a kind word._

_“Don’t leave me here!” he shouted, voice echoing. “You can’t leave me here!”_

_Atlantis gave a great shudder and then slowly began to sink beneath the sea. Rodney panicked, running from exit to exit but none of the doors responded to him. The light through the windows began to dim as the city descended further, and he knew there would be no escape for him. He was going to die here, alone and unwanted, starve to death, and there wasn’t a soul around to care._

_“I didn’t mean it!” he sobbed, dropping to his knees in front of the empty Gate. “I didn’t mean it! I loved him too!”_

*o*o*o*

Rodney jerked awake, this throat tight and heart pounding. He was disoriented and looked around a moment in panic, but then John was there squeezing his shoulder and murmuring in his ear and Rodney wondered if it were just another dream.

“It’s okay, Rodney.”

They were lying together on Rodney’s bed, the comforter thrown over the both of them. The window blinds were tightly closed but the dim light seeping through indicated that it wasn’t yet dark outside. An echo of the dream jittered under Rodney’s skin, a lingering bit of despair and remorse.

John curled around him from behind, one hand making soothing circles on his stomach that helped to settle him while at the same time making everything unreal. Rodney struggled with the feeling of being suspended between worlds; he wanted to know that John’s arm, his warm presence, was real and not just another dream.

“You with me, buddy?”

“I love you, too,” he blurted out. “I never said, because I didn’t think you liked me like that, but I should have. I should have told you and I’m sorry I didn’t. I’m sorry for everything, you’ll never know how much. But you need to know. You need to know…”

“Hey. It’s okay. I know. Okay? I know.”

John turned him, slowly and gently, until they were face-to-face, and reality slammed into Rodney like a fist, leaving him breathless. John was looking at him with undisguised affection and concern, his eyes dark pools in the dim lighting.

“I don’t know if I can do it,” Rodney whispered. “Go back there. What if next time…”

John silenced him with a soft kiss. “I won’t tell you everything will be better, or even the same. But, Atlantis is where we belong. And you know that.”

“But…”

“But nothing. We’ll be more careful, which is all we can do. We’ll work it out.”

Rodney wanted to be convinced; he wanted to believe in a new life on Atlantis with John. He searched John’s face, looking for reassurances, but all he saw was hope mirrored back at him. He realized it wasn’t fair to expect John to have all the answers; not even he, with his incredible intellect, could foresee all eventualities. He had to make a choice, and he couldn’t think it out; he had to feel it.

“I want to come home,” he whispered finally.

John grinned at him, his eyes overly bright. “Then let’s go home.”

He leaned in and kissed Rodney, who understood quite suddenly that they were both wrong. They were already home, as long as they were together, and finally he felt like he could breathe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **AN:** This fic went like gangbusters – I wrote it super-fast, up until John showed up. And then I re-wrote his scenes four different times trying to get it right. I like this ending, so hopefully I got it right. ::grins::


	10. Promises Kept

**1803 – Nova Scotia**

_Rodney McKay packed his valise with more haste than was his habit, eager to get started on his journey. When he’d met Mr. Nicholas just two days ago he never dreamed he’d be leaving everything he knew for a venture that would be incomprehensible to even the most forward-thinking individual. Luckily for Rodney he had more of an open mind, though the promises that had been dangled before him were fairly motivating. If he had not seen for himself, he would have declared Mr. Nicholas a cad and a charlatan and sent him on his way._

_Mr. Nicholas had woven an incredible tale of visitors from beyond the stars who had bestowed upon him machines of incredible ability, far beyond the steam power that Rodney was helping to refine. He wanted to be part of that, wanted to learn things no other man could know. And it wasn’t as if he was leaving much behind. His sister Jeannie had married an English professor and moved with him to Boston. His parents were deceased, and he had no real friends to speak of. ___

_Rodney snapped shut the valise and affixed the straps, heedless of a bit of shirt linen sticking out one side. He looked around his small boarding house room and felt no melancholy at leaving it. Mr. Nicholas had spoken to him of a city with shining towers that existed beneath a magical bubble that kept it hidden from all view, where he would have his own suite of rooms. He could have no further contact with anyone he knew, but that suited him just fine. He had already posted a letter to his sister, bidding her farewell. He’d enclosed what money he had left, since Mr. Nicholas said that where they were going he would have no need of it._

_As Rodney walked down the stairs and out to where the carriage waited he was filled with anticipation for the new life he was about to begin._

____

*o*o*o*

**1911 – Brule River State Forest**

_John was leaving his home against the wishes of the family council, and despite the many tears that his mother had shed since he informed her of his plans. His family had lived in the forest since before there were even colonies, and would stay as long as the trees grew. But John – he wanted more._

_The man called Mr. Nicholas had come, had sought John out specifically. Somehow he knew all of John’s secret dreams, and the way he would watch people from the edge of the forest, always curious about them and their customs. Mr. Nicholas had promised him more, had told him of a great city that would welcome him as one of her own and fulfill all of his wishes._

_John’s friends had called him reckless and his mother called him selfish, and they were probably right. As much as he loved the forest, though, it had never met all of his needs. There was always something missing, some vital piece that he could never identify but felt strongly nonetheless._

_He took nothing with him when he left, though he paused briefly to take one last big breath of the clean, earthy air. The scent of home, which was pine and wood and animal musk. And then John went to meet Mr. Nicholas, who would take him on his very first train ride to his new home. He was filled with anticipation for what was to come._

*o*o*o*

Rodney loved deadlines. He was always up to the challenge of testing himself and his skills, playing beat-the-clock and trying to best himself every time. On occasion he’d even create an arbitrary deadline where there was none, just to see if he could beat it. It was a good way to keep his skills honed and after two hundred and some-odd years it would be far too easy to just coast along without doing any real work.

His current deadline was only days away, which was why he was hunched over his desk, carefully watching the results scrolling across his tablet screen as the latest simulation finished running. The numbers were looking good and he grinned, smug, because he’d tweaked the engine enough to add a bit more speed to the rig; the population being what it was, every second counted.

“Hey, Rodney.”

He looked up and grinned. “You’ll like this, John. Take a look.” Rodney held up the tablet so John could read the simulation results. He was the one person who could really appreciate what Rodney had achieved.

“Wow! That’ll take, what? Another fifteen or twenty minutes off travel time?” John grinned, in that easy way he always had. 

Rodney nodded, pleased as he always was when John shared his enthusiasm about something. Not many of his so-called co-workers had the head for numbers and equations that John did, and fewer still even cared. They were a very insular group and he’d been an outsider since the day he’d arrived in the city. There was never any blatant rudeness, but Rodney always felt like they just didn’t understand him. And he was never invited to anything they had going on the side.

“How’s the new line coming?” he asked, saving his results before setting the tablet down. He always tried to at least make the appearance of taking an interest in John’s work.

“Pretty good.” John sat on the edge of Rodney’s desk, legs swinging. If it had been anyone else Rodney would’ve been annoyed, but John had long ago cut the bells off his boots. “I made those changes you suggested and now the remotes work ten times better. Although, if we could tweak the speed a little…”

“Absolutely not,” Rodney said, lips twitching as he fought a smile. John’s division might well have been called Toys that Go Too Fast; he was an adrenalin junkie and loved anything that broke speed barriers. “They go fast enough. The kids won’t have your reflexes, don’t forget.”

John pouted. With the pointy ears and the green felt cap set back on his head behind messy tufts of hair it was an adorable combination. Not that Rodney would have said so. In fact, he hadn’t said _anything_ in the hundred-plus years they’d been friends. Immortality had been a great gift, one that Rodney would always be grateful for, but it didn’t come with courage or self-esteem. John was the only friend he had and he wouldn’t risk that friendship for anything.

“I hate when you’re logical.”

Rodney rolled his eyes. “You’re such a baby. Tell you what, you have any extras bring me one and I’ll make it go faster for you. But _just_ for you.”

John immediately brightened. “Yeah? Thanks! That would be awesome.”

“Awesome? Can’t you act your age?”

“Nope. Don’t need to, you’re crotchety enough for both of us.” John slid off the desk, smirking in the face of Rodney’s scowl. “See? Grumpy.”

“Don’t you have work to do?”

“Sure do. Hey, you going to the party tonight?”

Rodney shrugged. He didn’t really enjoy the annual Christmas party. It was their busiest time of year and it seemed counter-productive to take a whole day off to make merry when they could do it afterwards, but sometimes Mr. Nicholas could be painfully old-fashioned about things.

“Come on, Rodney.” John was pouting again. “It won’t be any fun if you don’t come.”

“Like anyone will miss me,” Rodney replied. And yeah, that sounded pretty pathetic even though it was true.

“ _I’d_ miss you.”

“Fine. Maybe I’ll stop by.” It really was ridiculously easy to make John happy. 

“I’ll save you some eggnog!” John called on his way out the door.

Rodney shook his head, but he couldn’t help the happy feeling that his friend always left him with. It stayed with him most of the day as he implemented the engine upgrades.

*o*o*o*

The party was in full swing when Rodney dropped in, hovering uncertainly in the doorway. The cafeteria tables had been pushed against the walls, leaving the center of the room as a dance floor. Other than that, and Kyle’s DJ station, the room looked as it did all year: fragrant evergreen boughs draped over the windows, tiny Christmas trees in the center of every table, and the nine-foot wooden nutcracker than held the digital countdown display.

Rodney sidled along the wall until he reached the buffet table, which was laden with every possible type of Christmas cookie. He’d come too late for the dinner, but that was fine; he’d grabbed an extra sandwich at lunch for just that circumstance. He helped himself to a couple chocolate crinkles, immediately getting powdered sugar all down the front of his orange fleece pullover.

 _Jingle Bell Rock_ was blaring out of the speakers and Rodney had no trouble picking John out of the crowd, and not just because he was a little bit taller than everyone else. He was a really good dancer – Rodney suspected that had a lot to do with his often boneless posture – and was currently in the middle of the dance floor doing some sort of modified Jitterbug with Lanie from Wrapping.

As always, Rodney felt a little pang as he watched John laughing and having fun with his peers. They accepted him in a way they never had Rodney, even though he was just as much an outsider in a lot of ways. John had taken a little guff for not wearing any part of the uniform save the hat – secretly Rodney thought he looked much better in the cargo pants and tight green t-shirt – but for the most part they’d overlooked his quirks since he was still technically an Elf, just a different branch. 

Lanie laughed, high and clear, and whispered something in John’s pointy ear that made him blush. Rodney looked down at his feet, his chest tight. His work was usually enough to sustain him but every once in a while he’d get a sense of what he was missing: someone to love, a family of his own.

“Rodney, my boy. Why the long face?”

He really must’ve been lost in his thoughts to miss the arrival of Mr. Nicholas. He had a plate piled high with cookies, and how the man never got sick of them Rodney would never know. He had on green corduroy pants held up with red and green striped suspenders, and a long-sleeved white linen shirt. Rodney felt a little better seeing that the boss was liberally dusted with sugar and cinnamon.

“Nothing, Sir. Just thinking.”

“Pretty deep thoughts, by the look.”

Rodney shrugged. He wished he hadn’t come to the party. It wasn’t like he didn’t have plenty of work he could be doing instead. But Mr. Nicholas had neatly cut off his exit, boxing him in between the table and the wall with his big belly.

“I’ve always wondered if I was wrong, bringing you here all those years ago,” he said. There were crumbs in his long white beard.

“Oh, no! I’m really happy here, Sir. Really. I love my work. I’d never be able to do things like this back in the real world.” Rodney was feeling a bit panicky. He wouldn’t be sent away, would he? He’d been gone from that world for much too long, he’d never fit in. Maybe he’d never fit in anywhere, but at least in the city he had John.

“There’s more to happiness than work, Rodney,” Mr. Nicholas chided. “I know it’s been difficult for you.”

Rodney shook his head in denial, though it was true. It was hard to remember back to the time before he’d been recruited, but he seemed to recall having just as hard a time back there. Too acerbic, too pessimistic, too certain of his own brilliance to pay attention to anyone who couldn’t keep up. It hadn’t been a popular attitude back where he came from, and that was doubly true where he was now.

“It occurs to me, my boy, that in all the years you’ve been with us you’ve never once asked me for anything for Christmas.” Mr. Nicholas set down his plate and picked up a beautifully carved wooden stein filled with eggnog. He took a hearty swallow and Rodney thought that if not for the whole immortality thing his boss would’ve been dead from hardened arteries centuries ago.

“I have everything I need,” Rodney said. 

“Ah, but what about the things you _want?_ ” Mr. Nicholas’ eyes twinkled. “Don’t you think it’s time?”

Rodney narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “Have you been reading me? You’re only supposed to be able to do that with children.”

“That’s our Rodney, always believing the best of people. Hello, John.”

He turned to see John standing by the table, looking between the two of them uncertainly.

“Is everything okay?” John asked

Mr. Nicholas nodded solemnly. “We were just discussing whether it’s time to send Rodney back to the world to live out the remainder of his human years.”

Rodney’s heart stuttered in his chest. They hadn’t been talking about that! Had they? He looked at John, whose eyes were wide.

“Sir, you can’t send Rodney away! He’s done so much for us, for _you!_ ”

“True. His keen mind and inclination towards mechanics are what made me recruit him in the first place. But John, a man needs more than just work and hot cocoa. He needs a _home_ , and I fear we haven’t been able to give that to him here.”

For the first time in two hundred years, Rodney was afraid. When Mr. Nicholas had first come to him he’d been skeptical at first; if PowerPoint presentations had existed, he’d have used one to demonstrate how the existence of Santa Claus was nothing more than a fairy tale. But then he’d _seen_ , and understood, and been so incredibly flattered. He’d been chosen, hand-picked because of his innovative work with the steam-powered engine and his ability to see beyond what was to what could be.

It hadn’t all been wonderful, but most of it had been very, very good. He hadn’t been kidding about that. He loved the work, the way he was able to play with technology that no-one else on Earth had access to. The origins of it were still a bit unclear in his mind but it was _his_. And he was good at it.

“I’m not going back,” Rodney said, lifting his chin. “There’s nothing I want there. And I’m perfectly happy here, even if I don’t have anyone.”

John stared at him. “What does _that_ mean? You have me!”

Mr. Nicholas chuckled, the sound rumbling up from his belly. “Ah. I see. John, Rodney needs someone to love. He needs a family.” He gestured towards the group at the party.

There were Elves kissing, and dancing close. Families with small children playing tag between the tables. Newfound lovers slipping off to a nearby alcove to be alone, whispering in the dark. Rodney saw them all, his heart aching in want of it. To be someone’s special someone. To be touched, to be seen. To be wanted.

“But…Rodney, _I_ love you,” John said plaintively. “Don’t you know that?”

“Like a friend loves another friend,” Rodney replied. He smiled at John. “You’re my best friend, John. I never doubted that.”

John looked stricken. He looked over at Mr. Nicholas, who merely stared placidly back at him. “I thought…I thought that’s all you wanted. Just a friend.”

Now Rodney was the one that was confused. Surely John couldn’t be saying what he thought he was saying. And then there were bells jingling and Otto appeared, carrying a long, slender tree bough with mistletoe tied to the end. He had the stupid thing at every Christmas party, moving through the crowd and leaving kisses in his wake. Now he held it over Rodney’s head with a mischievous smirk.

“And who’ll kiss the human?” he asked merrily.

Rodney wanted to melt through the floor, because no-one _ever_ wanted to kiss the human. Then John moved forward, so fast he was nearly a blur, and pushed himself into Rodney’s personal space. His hands were on Rodney’s shoulders, his lips on Rodney’s lips, and suddenly it was as if the final puzzle piece suddenly slid into place, revealing the completed picture at last.

John. After all this time.

“Ho ho ho!” Mr. Nicholas belly laughed. “Merry Christmas, you two.”

He patted both of them on the back and then he was gone, mingling in the crowd of Elves who partied on, oblivious to the fact that Rodney’s whole world had changed for a second time.

“John?” Rodney pulled back, to catch his breath. And to make sure he wasn’t dreaming.

“Rodney,” John replied. And then he grinned, so big and so bright that it almost hurt Rodney to see it, and he darted in for another kiss with a smile on his own lips.

Things were going to be different now, he knew. Better. Because Elves never did anything by halves, and immortality came with a decisiveness that let them know exactly how they wanted forever to go. And who they wanted to spend it with. It wasn’t a fluke, or a trick, or a mistake. It was John, and it was Rodney, and from now on every day would be like Christmas.

[](http://s229.photobucket.com/user/mommybruno/media/FanFic%20Pics/SGA/FandomXmas.jpg.html)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **AN:** I have no idea where these darn bunnies come from. This one is silly and fluffy and I guess that’s just Christmas in my brain. LOL!
> 
> Happy Holidays everyone!


	11. One Christmas Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A chance encounter in an airport and one very special Christmas Eve.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for pinch hitters rabidfan and outsideth3box at SGA Secret Santa, because they stepped up and gave everyone a merry SGA Christmas!

Rodney had clearly gone insane, it was the only reason he’d be stuck at the airport on Christmas Eve. He knew better than to travel during the holidays, but circumstances beyond his control had forced him on a plane bound for home at the absolute worst possible time. Naturally there was a storm in the Midwest and all flights had been canceled, including the connecting flight that he was supposed to be on.

The only saving grace was the Starbucks, which helped keep the sweet nectar of caffeine flowing through Rodney’s veins. He secured a small table and settled in with his tablet; just because he was on vacation didn’t mean he couldn’t get some work done. He pulled out his cell phone and called his research assistant.

“Andres! Where are we on the ZedPM calculations?”

_McKay, I’m at the Christmas party._

“Why?” Rodney moved his phone to the other ear and unlocked the tablet so he could link up with his system back at Area 51. “You should be working instead of drinking watered-down eggnog.”

_It’s Christmas._

“I don’t see what difference that makes. We have a deadline, or are you already too drunk to remember?”

_We’re shut down for the next three days, McKay. Enjoy your holiday._

Andres had the nerve to hang up on him. Rodney glared at his phone. He didn’t understand the need to stop everything just because it was Christmas. As if the Goa’uld cared about stuff like that. Rodney’d been telling his staff for months that if they hoped to defeat their enemies they needed to start thinking like them. They had to be just as ruthless, just as focused. Did the SGC really think Anubis would cut them some slack so they could decorate trees and sing carols?

“This seat taken?”

Rodney looked up from his tablet, automatic denial dying on his lips. A tall, lean man stood in front of him, wearing an Air Force uniform and holding a Starbucks cup in one hand. He was handsome, with messy hair that couldn’t possibly be regulation and full lips lifted in a smirk.

“Uh, no. Please sit.” Rodney pulled his bag off the empty seat and the Airman slid into it, immediately assuming a slouchy sprawl. 

“Thanks.”

They sat in amiable silence for a few minutes, the flyboy drinking what smelled like hot chocolate while Rodney pretended to be engrossed in the schematics on his tablet. In reality he was surreptitiously looking at the uniform jacket, which told Rodney his companion was a Major. And while he couldn’t begin to decipher the different ribbons on his chest, he was sure he saw one indicating service in Afghanistan and another for aerial achievement.

“So where you headed?”

“What? Oh. Uh…Toronto. You?”

“Nellis Air Force Base. Just getting off leave.” The guy held his hand out across the table. “John Sheppard.”

“Rodney McKay. Doctor.” Rodney flushed, feeling like an idiot.

“Nice to meet you, Doc,” John said with a smirk. He glanced down at the tablet. “Engineer?”

Rodney tried to hide his surprise. He had a habit of assuming all flyboys were empty-headed adrenalin junkies, though he knew from personal experience that wasn’t true. Well, not always. He thought about mentioning that he’d just come from Nevada himself but of course he couldn’t talk about Area 51. And his work was classified, so he casually flipped the tablet back to the main screen.

“Good eye.”

“Spending the holiday with family?” John asked. He fiddled with the lid on his cup.

Rodney scowled. “Family emergency, actually. My sister. It’s…bad.”

The other man looked instantly stricken. “Sorry. Is she ill?”

“Worse. _Engaged_.”

John choked on his cocoa. “What?!”

“Engaged,” Rodney repeated. “To an English major of dubious intelligence. Can you believe that? Jeannie’s brilliant and she’s going to waste it all on some hoser who doesn’t deserve her.”

He was still angry about it, enough to drop everything and hop on a plane to Toronto in the middle of winter. He had to talk some sense into his sister before it was too late and she squandered all her God-given brains on housewifery. John had no idea how serious it was, or else he wouldn’t be chuckling.

“It’s not funny,” Rodney said sullenly.

“I’m sorry.” John made a visible effort to get the grin off his face but he wasn’t successful until Rodney asked his next question.

“And where were you? Doing wholesome, mid-Western family things, I suppose.”

All the humor bled out of John’s face and Rodney had the sinking feeling that he’d made a faux pas. Normally he didn’t care about crap like that but John seemed nice enough, and there was something about his cowlicks that Rodney found strangely appealing. The hurt in John’s eyes pricked at him.

“Never mind. Sorry. None of my business.” He held his hands up in a placating gesture. “You know what? I’m just gonna go.”

Rodney hastily shoved his tablet and phone back into the shoulder bag and stood up. He’d just have to find someplace else to kill time; maybe the business lounge. He shrugged apologetically at John and hurried off. Just like him, to say something idiotic and screw up the chance to spend time with some eye candy. Eye candy in a uniform, no less!

He walked purposefully through Concourse A, following the signs to the lounge. There were stranded travelers everywhere, some of them sleeping in the uncomfortable seats provided at each gate and others stretched right out on the floor. It was another reason to keep the caffeine coming – Rodney would never be able to sleep in the airport without doing serious damage to his neck or his back.

The lounge was packed, as he’d figured it would be. Christmas music was being piped in, Bing Crosby barely audible as he crooned _White Christmas_. Rodney stood in the doorway, assessing the room and trying to locate an empty seat in one of the more comfortable plush chairs.

“You didn’t have to leave,” John said over his shoulder. Rodney flinched, taken by surprise.

“Geez, what are you? An Air Force ninja?” He moved aside to let the man past, but John just leaned against the wall.

“You’re pretty twitchy, Doc.”

“Don’t you have something else you could be doing?” Rodney countered, irritated. He didn’t need to feel any more foolish than he already did.

“Like what? Helping dig out the runway?”

“I’m fairly certain you could be doing something more useful than bothering me.” Rodney decided to abandon the lounge. There weren’t any good seats empty and the music had switched to something country that he didn’t much care for. He turned on his heel and walked away, and was both aggravated and secretly pleased when John fell into step with him.

“So you’re Canadian?”

“What gave me away? The fact that I told you I’m going to Toronto?” Rodney finished off his coffee and tossed the empty cup in the nearest trash receptacle.

“Your accent, really.”

“Huh. Not many Americans seem capable of making that distinction.”

John grinned. “Well, I’ve watched a lot of _Due South_.”

That stopped Rodney in his tracks, and he stared at John in disbelief. “I’m sorry, _what?_ That show with the Mountie?”

“That’s the one. Although he was a lot more polite than you.”

“He also _licked_ things. That was not an accurate representation of Canadian culture, just so you know. We’re not all polite pantywaists that hang out at Tim Horton’s and eat poutine and watch hockey.” No need to mention that Tim Horton’s was totally on his list of things to do in Toronto, mostly for a double-double and some tea biscuits.

John quirked an eyebrow at him. “What the hell is poutine?”

“French fries with gravy and cheese curds,” Rodney answered promptly. He waited for John to make a disgusted face, and wasn’t disappointed. “It’s not as bad as it sounds. But I prefer ketchup chips.”

“If you say so.”

Rodney started walking again, ready to put that whole ridiculous conversation out of his mind. He hated Canadian stereotypes as much as Americans probably hated being considered brash, pompous windbags with more patriotism than sense. 

“You’re not a very friendly guy,” John remarked, easily keeping pace with him.

“And yet you can’t seem to leave me alone.”

“It’s Christmas.”

There was something in John’s tone that caught Rodney’s attention. He sounded almost lonely, and maybe a little sad, and he wondered if the cause of that was the reason John had been on leave. Perhaps someone in his family had died, which made Rodney feel even worse about his earlier comment. And really, if he thought hanging around Rodney was a good time he was in really bad shape.

They came up to a bank of windows and Rodney paused there, leaning against the sill. There wasn’t much to see, not with the way the snow was coming down, though the planes closest were easiest to make out. It didn’t look like the storm was letting up anytime soon.

“Sorry you’re missing Christmas with your sister,” John said, as if it were somehow his fault.

“I don’t really celebrate Christmas,” Rodney said. “Trust me, I’d rather be in my lab working right now.”

He was, in fact, itching to pull his tablet out and get some work done, but he couldn’t do that with John dogging him around the airport.

“What do you have against Christmas?”

Rodney snorted. “Everything? Like the fact that it starts right after Halloween, and we’re inundated with all things holly and jolly before it’s even Thanksgiving. It’s an excuse to spend money we can’t afford on gifts that will be forgotten by the time Christmas rolls around next year. People write lengthy family newsletters that no-one else cares about, we’re forced to endure tedious parties with co-workers, and we continually perpetuate a lie in order to get children to behave themselves for one month out of the year.”

“Wow, you really are a Grinch.” John boosted himself up on the wide window sill, long legs dangling. 

“And I suppose you’re Father Christmas.”

“Well, I don’t hate it. Where I’m usually stationed there’s not much to be merry about.” John rested his head against the window. “I’m actually kind of enjoying the snow, even though I’m stuck here.”

Rodney could well imagine some of the places his new companion must have been. Sandy, dry, desert places most likely and yeah, it probably wasn’t conducive for getting in the Christmas spirit.

“Are you really going to ruin your sister’s Christmas?” John asked. “I know it’s none of my business, but the more you tell her no the closer you’re going to push them together.”

“You’re right, it’s not your business,” Rodney snapped. “And what is that, some kind of twisted reverse psychology? I’m not telling her it’s okay to throw her life away.”

He turned his gaze from his annoying companion and back out at the swirling snow. Before Rodney’s parents had died they instilled in him the knowledge that intellect was everything. If you had a brain, you had to use it and not for any fanciful pursuits like art or writing. No, the McKays were destined for scientific brilliance. They’d pushed Rodney, especially, to make the most of his genius IQ and it was only fitting that he pushed Jeannie the same way.

“Have you met him? The fiancé?”

“No. Apparently they had some whirlwind romance or something, which is further proof that this is a colossal mistake.” Something twisted inside Rodney when he remembered Jeannie gushing about Caleb over the phone. He’d never been that excited to have someone in his life, and maybe he was the tiniest bit jealous, but he had a much better idea than his sister did of how these things usually turned out.

John shifted on the sill, pulling one leg up and bending it to provide a shelf for his chin. “You don’t believe in love at first sight?”

“No. It doesn’t make sense.” Rodney found himself staring at John’s sock-clad ankle. “The logical thing is to take time getting to know someone. How can you decide to spend your life with someone based on such incomplete data?”

“It’s love, Doc. Not science.”

“ _Everything_ is science,” Rodney countered.

John rolled his eyes. “Okay, Mr. Wizard. What about pheromones? Haven’t you ever just seen someone and felt an instant attraction?”

“That’s not science, that’s biology. And attraction like that is what one night stands are made of, not lasting relationships.”

“I’ve never heard someone be so analytical about love,” John said sadly, like he actually pitied Rodney in some way. That only made Rodney bristle defensively.

“Are _you_ in a relationship?”

“I was. One that was logical and made perfect sense on paper.”

Rodney hadn’t been expecting that, and he told himself he didn’t care about the love life of a stranger. It didn’t stop him from asking, though. “So what happened?”

“What happened was I used my leave to sign divorce papers.”

He winced at the bitter tone in John’s voice even as he tried to make sense of everything the man had been saying. “So, you were married but you didn’t love her?”

John turned his face away, but Rodney could see his sad expression reflected in the window glass. “I did love her, just not the way she needed. I’m done being logical.” There was longing in his voice, and now it was Rodney that was feeling pity.

“Life isn’t like a romance novel, you know. You have a better chance of finding someone compatible if you give up on the idea of having all that passion. It doesn’t last anyway.” He’d seen it first hand, in the way his parents always sniped at each other. If there’d ever been love between them, it had died long before Rodney was even aware of such things.

“You know what I think?” John looked back around. “I think that it’s possible to meet a complete stranger and feel an instant connection. And maybe it’s physical to start with, but there’s every chance that can deepen and turn into something completely unexpected.”

He licked his lips and gave Rodney a blatant once-over that left him flushed and perhaps a bit more open to John’s theory. 

“Why…uh. Hmm. How do you know if there’s more than just physical attraction?”

John shrugged. “You don’t. But isn’t it worth taking the time to find out?” His voice dropped down a whole octave and he somehow added a lusty growl to it that had Rodney casting around for the nearest restroom or ficus-covered alcove.

He was no stranger to random encounters in less than desirable places, but the idea of that turning into something meaningful was laughable, no matter how good John made it sound. Still, he almost never said no to sex – he was a healthy adult male, after all – and sex with a man in uniform hit squarely one of his long-held kinks.

John slid off the sill and smoothed out his dress pants. It was possible that Rodney only imagined John’s hand lingering briefly over his own groin, but it was an incredible turn-on either way. He thought maybe he understood about John’s doomed marriage now. Not so logical, then, if he married her knowing he preferred the company of other men. 

Before he could expend any further thought on the subject Rodney found himself crowded up against the wall as John invaded his personal space, though he was very careful not to touch. His breath was warm on Rodney’s face and the look in his eyes very clearly broadcast what he wanted to do next.

“Not here,” he said. “Follow me.”

John turned abruptly on his heel and walked off, leaving Rodney momentarily dazed. He shook his head to clear it and hurried to catch up. Obviously they couldn’t just make out in the middle of the concourse, not with DADT still firmly in place. Not for the first time Rodney cursed the American government for outdated thinking and the ridiculous restrictions they put on their military personnel. It was one of the main reasons he’d never give up Canadian citizenship, no matter how good the work was down in the Lower 48.

He had no idea where John was leading him, unless he had special knowledge of a handy supply closet or something. “This isn’t some kind of prank, is it?” he asked suspiciously.

“Why would I prank you?”

“It’s been known to happen,” Rodney muttered. John reached over and squeezed his arm, just a brief touch but the heat was palpable.

“Not a prank.”

Rodney bit back the rest of his questions and followed John up the escalator to the customer service counter. Understanding dawned as he recalled reading something – or maybe he saw it online – about hospitality rooms that many airports were now offering. Just small rooms with a bed and little else, where weary travelers could take a quick nap. They were rented out by the hour, and suddenly that seemed a lot seedier than it would have otherwise.

He hung back while John made the arrangements, messing around with his phone so he wouldn’t look suspicious. It wasn’t as if John could make a reservation for the both of them. Rodney waited until John had completed his transaction and walked down the hall before following as nonchalantly as he knew how.

John’s room was number twelve and it was little more than a closet. There was a day bed, a straight-backed chair, a wall-mounted lamp, and a flat screen TV showing flight information – everything was still red across the board.

“This is…uh…cozy.” Rodney squeeze past John and dumped his bag on the chair.

“First hour is free for me. Military benefits.” John actually blushed, like he was taking advantage of the system or something. Rodney firmly believed that active military should get as many perks as they could, given the kind of things they were asked to do – or not do, as the case may be – for their country.

The heat that had been between them earlier seemed to have cooled now that they had a bed at their disposal. Rodney sat on it, pleased with the firmness of the mattress, and then wondered what the hell he was supposed to say. John fidgeted by the closed door, looking equally unsure. Well, someone had to be in charge.

Rodney reached out and grabbed hold of John’s wrist, tugging him the short distance to the bed. John came willingly enough, keeping still while Rodney unbuttoned his service jacket. The three buttons were quickly dealt with and the jacket opened to reveal the white dress shirt and dark blue tie. John shrugged off the jacket while Rodney went to work on the smaller shirt buttons, cursing when he found an undershirt instead of skin. Still, once he had the shirt gaping open he splayed his hands on John’s abdomen, enjoying the heat and hard muscle there.

John made a little noise in the back of this throat and Rodney looked up to see that he had his eyes closed. He wondered how long it had been since John had been touched by another man. Was he faithful to his wife while they were married? He suspected the answer to that was yes.

Rodney pulled the undershirt out from the waistband of the dress pants, pleased to have skin at last. He slid his hands up underneath the shirt, encountering smooth skin and coarse chest hair. When he got to John’s nipples he thumbed them lightly, drawing out another noise, and the lust was back like a shot straight to Rodney’s groin. He attacked John’s belt, fumbling the buckle free and barely taking time to unbutton and unzip before he was pushing them down John’s hips.

White boxer briefs never looked so good, particularly the way they were very clearly outlining John’s erection. Rodney saw no need to waste any more time. He leaned in, breathing in the scent of musky arousal, and mouthed John right through the cotton.

“Fuck,” John hissed. He put his hands on Rodney’s shoulders, gripping tightly but not trying to direct the action.

There were very many things that Rodney was skilled at. Most of them involved higher brain functions and algorithms and equations, but he was also quite good at giving blow jobs. And he enjoyed giving them, which he’d been told made a noticeable difference.

He peeled John’s underwear down to his thighs, freeing his cock. He took a moment to admire it, cut and long, curving upward just slightly. Rodney stroked his hand down it, enjoying the heat and the silky skin, and the crinkle of pubic hair when he wrapped his hand around the base. He never understood men who shaved themselves bare, or “man-scaped.” There was nothing like the contrast between a smooth shaft and coarse hair.

“Rodney,” John pleaded.

“Hmmm,” Rodney hummed, and in one smooth movement sucked him in as far as he could manage. He curled his other hand around John’s hip, and felt the man trembling.

John tasted as good as he looked and as much as Rodney wanted to draw out the experience for both of them, he couldn’t stop himself from eagerly licking and sucking until John’s hips started jerking. The noises he made were pure porn, driving Rodney on. All too soon John stiffened and Rodney relished every pulse of his cock as he swallowed. He pulled off slowly, his tongue a gentle caress, and suddenly had his arms full of flyboy as John collapsed on top of him.

“Whoa.” Rodney lay on his back, John a heavy weight on top of him. Their legs were an awkward tangle, thanks to John still having his pants around his ankles. It wasn’t a good angle for Rodney’s knees and he pushed John off.

“You’re crushing me, you big lummox.” There was no real heat behind Rodney’s complaint, not when he was so painfully hard. 

“Your mouth should be declared a lethal weapon,” John mumbled.

“You’re welcome,” Rodney replied, smug. He helped John remove the remainder of his clothing, carefully folding everything and draping it over the back of the chair. When he turned back around there was a funny expression on John’s face, something soft and a little amused.

“What’re you doing?”

“I don’t want your uniform getting too rumpled.”

“Rumpled.”

Rodney nodded, laying John’s tie on top of the clothing pile. “There’s probably nothing for the pants creases, but spending the night in the airport surely they won’t expect you to be neatly pressed.”

“Come here,” John said softly.

“Give me a sec.” Rodney hurriedly removed his own clothes, taking much less care with them. No-one would care if _his_ shirt was wrinkled.

The heat in John’s eyes as he gave Rodney’s nude body a top-to-bottom visual scan was gratifying but Rodney didn’t feel the need to let him linger. His cock was hard enough to cut glass and he needed some relief, he didn’t care what kind.

He joined John on the small bed, moving himself up towards one end while John scootched down to the other. In short order he was draped across Rodney, warmer than any blanket, and in just the right position for reciprocity.

“I’m probably not as good at this as you,” he said apologetically.

Rodney fisted his hands in the bedcovers to keep from touching John’s crazy, cowlicked hair. “No-one is. It’ll still be good.” He rolled his hips, which made John chuckle.

All rational thought soon went out the window. John may not have been as technically skilled at giving blow jobs but he had an enthusiasm that more than made up for it. And unlike Rodney he could deep throat, which was amazing and hot and had Rodney thrusting into the wet heat of John’s mouth before he could stop himself.

John made an appreciative noise and swallowed around Rodney’s cock and that was all it took to tip him off the edge into completion. He came hard, John’s weight across his hips the only thing keeping him from arching up off the bed. John continued to lave Rodney’s softening cock until it became too sensitive and he pushed John away.

“Guh,” Rodney said. His heart was still pounding as John wormed his way back to the head of the bed. It was a tight fight, and the only way they could get comfortable on the narrow bed was by lying on their sides, spooned up together. John curled up behind Rodney, one arm slung over his hip.

“I’ll never understand people who don’t like blowjobs.” Rodney let his eyes drift closed, enjoying the feel of John rubbing lazy circles on his stomach with one hand. “That was damn good.”

“Likewise,” John murmured next to Rodney’s ear. It sent shivers over the sensitive skin there.

As random sexual encounters went, it had been one of Rodney’s better ones. Usually after the big finish there was a mad scramble for clothes and then both parties went about their business. He never imagined he’d be much for cuddling, but this…it was kind of nice. Maybe that was what real relationships were like, and for the first time he thought maybe he wouldn’t mind having one. Someday.

John snorted, loud and unexpectedly, and Rodney’s eyes popped open. “What?”

“I was just thinking. You really _are_ Canadian.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You’re just like the Mountie. You lick things too.”

Rodney rolled his eyes even as his lips twitched into an almost-smile. “You have a juvenile sense of humor, which probably shouldn’t come as such a surprise in a flyboy like you.”

“It’s all part of my charm.”

“If that’s what you have to tell yourself.” Rodney knew he should get up, get dressed. There was no reason he should be so content to just lay there, snuggled up against a man he barely knew. Pheromones, that’s all it was. John might have had illusions about deeper connections, but as soon as the runways were clear they’d both be boarding different planes and the chances of them running into each other again were slim to none.

“Thanks, Doc.” John tightened his hold and nuzzled Rodney’s neck.

“For what?”

“For not making me spend Christmas alone.”

Rodney wanted to kiss him then, wanted to erase the little bit of vulnerability that lay between the words, but since John hadn’t initiated any kissing he wasn’t sure he should either. Some people were funny about that, though after you’d another man’s cock in your mouth how much more intimate could it possibly be?

“Merry Christmas, John,” he said instead.

*o*o*o*

**Several Years Later**

Rodney hated Antarctica. Sure, it had been fun at first exploring the Ancient outpost, and for a while he’d amused himself by pretending he was on Hoth, but he was tired of being cold all the time. He was thankful every day for the orange fleece pullover that Jeannie had given him when he told her he was going on a research mission to the frozen continent.

As if it wasn’t hard enough digging through the Ancient database, which either didn’t have an index or had one they couldn’t figure out how to initiate, he also had to practically sit on Carson to get him to do anything useful. It had been disappointing in the extreme for Rodney to learn he didn’t possess the Ancient gene that would have allowed him to interact with the Ancient equipment in a more useful manner. Worse, Carson was a natural gene carrier and he was terrified of everything, especially the Control Chair.

When Carson came on the run to report that some unknown helo pilot who hadn’t even been read in to the Stargate program had sat in the chair and activated it, Rodney was nearly beside himself with the unfairness of it all. O’Neill had looked sheepish when he admitted he’d brought the airman in and then left him virtually unsupervised. They’d all gone running, though, to see this miracle of Ancient genetics. And Rodney felt everything inside him freeze up when he saw who it was.

John Sheppard, his long-ago one night stand. He gave no indication that he recognized Rodney, and he couldn’t help feeling a little hurt. Not that he thought he was especially memorable, but they’d shared Christmas Eve blowjobs and that at least should have stuck in his mind.

Well, Rodney certainly wasn’t going to make a scene. He looked right at John, eyes drinking in the messy hair and those hazel-green eyes, and got down to business.

“Major, think about where we are in the solar system.”

Not only did John have the nerve to possess the ATA gene, he seemed to have it in spades. A holographic representation of the solar system immediately formed over all their heads and John looked quite overwhelmed and maybe even a little scared.

“Did I do that?”

Rodney barely heard him over the rush of white noise humming in his ears. He’d seen the predatory grin on Elizabeth’s face. John would be offered a spot on the Atlantis expedition. He’d thought they’d never see each other again and soon they’d be embarking on what was possibly a one-way trip into the unknown and Rodney wasn’t sure how he felt about that.

Everything happened pretty quickly after that. O’Neill and Elizabeth whisked John away to sign non-disclosure agreements and presumably to convince him that the best move for his career was going to another galaxy. Carson was more chipper than he’d been in weeks.

“It won’t be just up to me, now, will it?” he asked with a grin. “Did you see that? He already has better control.”

“Maybe if you stopped cowering every time we asked you to initialize something, you’d be better too,” Rodney snapped back.

He trailed along after Jackson. They’d have to make some adjustments to the expedition if they were going to have such a powerful gene carrier with them. Colonel Sumner was going to have a fit when they told him he’d have a new member added to his team, someone he hadn’t handpicked. Oh, well, it wasn’t like it was Rodney’s problem.

Three hours later he was summoned to O’Neill’s base office, where he found John looking wrung out and a little shell-shocked. Rodney stood there awkwardly but tried not to let too much of his discomfort show in front of the General.

“McKay. Can you show Major Sheppard to the guest quarters? After he’s had some down time you can take him to the lab and let him take all your Ancient toys for a test drive.”

“With all due respect, I don’t…”

“Thank you. That will be all.” O’Neill dismissed him with an imperious nod, though he had a difficult time masking his smirk, and Rodney knew better than to press his luck. He had no idea why he’d been asked to deliver John to his room, something any military drone could do, but he knew better than to argue. 

“Let’s go, Major.” Rodney strode out of the office, not caring if he was followed or not. He supposed it was too much to expect that someone like John – a ridiculously handsome pilot who could have anyone he wanted – would remember someone like Rodney, genius IQ or not.

“You been here long?” John asked, falling easily into step with Rodney just like he had at the airport that day.

“Just a few months.”

That seemed to be the end of John’s conversational gambits. They walked the rest of the way in silence, everyone they passed in the halls shooting them curious looks. Word of the super gene apparently traveled fast.

Rodney stopped in front of the door to one of the empty rooms. They were little more than cells, really, since the Ancient outpost wasn’t designed for long-term residency. He hit the panel that slid the door open and gestured with one arm.

“Your new home away from home,” he said with as much sarcasm as he could muster.

John looked up and down the hall, which was empty for the moment, and then shoved Rodney into the room. The door slid shut behind them, and Rodney sputtered in indignation. 

“What are you doing, you idiot? Do you have any idea…”

John silenced him by the simple expedient of pressing his lips to Rodney’s, in the kiss that Rodney had always regretted never getting all those years ago. His brain short-circuited for a full ten seconds before he pulled back, wide-eyed.

“You have no idea how long I’ve been wanting to do that,” John said with a grin.

“But…I thought you forgot.”

“I told you, Doc. It wasn’t just physical attraction.” John kissed him again, soft and sweet, and pulled him close.

There was so much Rodney wanted to say, though for some reason his throat was so tight he wasn’t sure he could get the words out even if he didn’t have John’s tongue in his mouth. He wanted to say that he’d never forgotten either, that he’d thought about John a lot in the intervening years. The few sexual encounters he’d had since that night in the airport had been lackluster in comparison. He wanted to say that he’d heeded John’s advice about his sister, and now their relationship was stronger than it had ever been, even though she was a wife and mother these days instead of a scientist.

John kissed along Rodney’s jawline to his ear. “Do you believe in love at first sight?”

“I’m willing to review the data,” Rodney admitted with a grin. He pulled back so he could see John’s face, and slid his hands down so they held firmly to the flyboy’s hips. “Does this mean you’ll come to Atlantis?”

“Are _you_ going?”

“It’ll be the scientific discovery of a lifetime. Of course I’ll be there.”

“Then I will be too,” John said softly. There was an expression on his face so full of affection that it made Rodney catch his breath. “I’m done being logical, remember?”

“So am I, it would seem.” This time Rodney initiated the kiss, enjoying the slick glide of John’s tongue along his own. And maybe it wasn’t all physical attraction, but that was definitely a part of it judging by the erection poking him in the hip.

“We have a lot to talk about,” John said. He squeezed Rodney’s ass. “Lots to do.”

“Talking is highly over-rated.”

“Maybe so. But…aliens?”

“You’ll get used to it,” Rodney assured him. “Just stick with me. I’ll keep you out of trouble.”

John raised an eyebrow at that. “Somehow I doubt that.”

“No more talking.” Rodney backed him up to the narrow bed, much like the first one they’d shared together. “Talking later. Sex now.”

“Bossy.” John chuckled. “I like it.”

“Good. Get used to it.” Rodney blushed as he said that, but he wasn’t going to apologize for making assumptions. John was right, sometimes logic didn’t apply. Sometimes he needed to go with his gut or, if he was in a mushy kind of mood, his heart. And his heart was telling him that his life was going to be very interesting now that John had fallen back into it.

“You still like to lick things?” John blatantly adjusted himself through his flight suit.

Rodney just grinned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **AN:** I was originally going to end this fic at the airport, with John and Rodney going their separate ways, but the bittersweet was just too much for me. ::grins:: So I gave them a happy epilogue, just because I could.


	12. Monster

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What does it take to push Rodney over the edge, to make anger his only emotion? And is there any coming back from that?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Standard Disclaimer:** I have no claims to the song used in this fic, just as I'm only borrowing Rodney and John.
> 
> For Taste_is_Sweet, so she'll be inspired to write another SGA fic. For me. Cause I'm so neeeeedy. ::grins::

  
**Monster,** Skillet

  
_The secret side of me_  
 _I never let you see_  
 _I keep it caged but I can't control it_  
 _So stay away from me_  
 _The beast is ugly_  
 _I feel the rage and I just can't hold it_

_It's scratching on the walls_  
 _In the closet, in the halls_  
 _It comes awake and I can't control it_  
 _Hiding under the bed_  
 _In my body, in my head_  
 _Why won't somebody come and save me from this_  
 _Make it end_

* * *

Dr. Rodney McKay strode purposefully through the corridors of Atlantis, scientists falling back from his wake; they whispered and muttered, but were careful not to make eye contact. Even the Marines were careful to give him his space, though he was certain any number of them would’ve happily dropped him off the nearest pier if they had the choice. It was no matter; he’d long since given up caring what anyone thought about him.

The mess hall was only sparsely populated this long after the lunch rush, which suited him just fine. He didn’t look around to see if there was anyone to eat with or if a table was free; there always seemed to be a small table in the corner waiting for him no matter what time he came in, as if people were afraid he might join them otherwise.

Rodney was steps away from the chow line when he saw them. Turkey sandwiches. The anger that lay perpetually coiled in his gut like a venomous snake unfurled, and all he could see was red. _Turkey sandwiches_. He turned sharply on his heel and marched right back out of the room without getting anything to eat. Anger and resentment burned under his skin, made him sick to his stomach, but he couldn’t stop it.

John wasn’t there to eat the damned sandwiches.

He went back to the labs, his presence stifling all conversations but increasing the appearance of activity. He logged into his laptop and checked for updates from his staff. It was the easiest method of communication, and preferred by the other scientists because Rodney screaming at them in all caps was a lot easier to deal with then him screaming and belittling them in full voice.

For the most part the program reports were good. He responded to questions, gave some suggestions where needed, and then looked through Grant’s latest schematics. He shook his head, scowling, and tapped at his ear piece.

“Grant, in my office. Now.”

_Yes, Dr. McKay._

Grant took his time, but that was fine; it gave Rodney a chance to type up his dismissal letter. Douglas Grant had been with the expedition for three months and he wasn’t staying one more day. 

“Dr. McKay?” Grant was hovering in the doorway and Rodney waved him in.

“Dr. Grant. I regret to inform you that your time with the Atlantis Expedition has come to an end. You will clear out your things, give Dr. Zelenka all of your work, and take the Daedalus back to Earth next week.” Rodney laid it out for him coolly and dispassionately, just the facts. He didn’t know anything about the man, personally, and that had been by choice. All he needed to know was that he was a piss poor physicist.

“You can’t do that!” Grant protested, face flushed with either anger or fear or a mix of both.

“I can and I did. You have shown no growth in the time you’ve been here, your equations are sloppy, and you are most assuredly not an asset to the continuing survival of this city.” Rodney crossed his arms, hands clenched painfully. It was all he could do not to take a swing at the man standing in front of him, for no other reason than the mess hall serving the wrong type of sandwich.

“I’ll go to Dr. Weir.”

“I’m the CSO and my word is law as far as the science team is concerned. You want to go tattle to mommy, be my guest. It won’t change the fact that you’re gone. Now get out of here before I call for a military escort.”

Rodney turned his back on Grant, part of him hoping the man would come at him; he was spoiling for a fight. But the scientist stomped off and Rodney was forced to take several deep breaths to get himself back under control. Not for the first time he wished Ronon was around to give him a proper workout.

He worked in silence in the lab for the next several hours, going through five power bars and even more cups of coffee. He had several projects going at once, plus everything he was overseeing, but he was still hard at work trying to reverse engineer the personal shield. He’d found a way to recharge the one they had, but the power cell didn’t last long. If he could find a way to recreate the shield, he was sure he’d be able to give it longer life as well.

_Dr. McKay, do you have a moment?_

Elizabeth’s voice came over the ear piece and Rodney sighed. He hated being interrupted when he was working, but he’d learned to respect the chain of command, particularly when Elizabeth was probably the only person between him and a one way ticket back to Earth.

“Yes, fine. Give me a minute.” He saved his work and enabled his passcodes; no computer system in two galaxies was as secure as Rodney McKay’s laptop.

He once more took to the halls, making his way to Elizabeth’s office just off the Gate Room. She sat behind her desk, hands clasped, and nodded when he came in. He dropped down into a chair and flapped one hand impatiently.

“I’m very busy, Elizabeth. Can we just get to it?”

She sighed but otherwise maintained her carefully neutral expression. “Rodney, about Dr. Grant.”

“You’ve received the paperwork. He has to go. If you read the e-mail you’ve seen that I outlined my reasons for dismissing him.”

“You can’t keep firing the scientists, Rodney. Dr. Grant is the third one you’ve sent home in the last two months.”

Rodney frowned. “They weren’t a good fit, Elizabeth, and you know it. I don’t do this on a whim. My priority is the safety of Atlantis.”

Elizabeth held her hands up in a placating gesture. “I don’t doubt that you have our best interests at heart, but you’re not giving them much of a chance to prove themselves. If you’d just go to the SCG and interview them in advance…”

“No.” Rodney got up and made for the door. Elizabeth knew as well as anyone that Rodney wasn’t going back there, not for a day and not for the two weeks of leave they’d tried to make him take after they’d lost John. They couldn’t force him out of the city, not when he was so important to the expedition, and he suspected that the second he set foot in the SGC he’d be whisked away for a comprehensive psych eval.

“Rodney.”

“Make sure they do the standard search on Grant before they beam him aboard the Daedalus; I don’t want him taking any of our tech back with him.” Rodney didn’t wait for a response before he left.

*o*o*o*

Rodney stood out on his balcony and watched the sunset. He’d changed rooms four months ago, and while the new room was a bit smaller than the old one, it had a spectacular view of the city. He hated it, perversely because John would’ve loved it, but that was also why he had to have it. No-one loved Atlantis more than John did, and that was part of the reason Rodney couldn’t leave; someone had to watch over things.

The late day sun cast a warm, golden glow over the spires of the city as the sky slowly bled from bright blue to violet to indigo. The first stars were starting to twinkle, constellations that John and Rodney had named sometime during that first year – Batman, Flying Bunny, Space Needle, Bob. The memory only served to feed the anger; one more thing that John wasn’t there to enjoy.

Rodney stayed out on the balcony until the last bit of light had gone. Then it was back to work. He logged back onto his laptop and returned to his simulations of the personal shield. He knew he was obsessive about it, but he couldn’t help thinking that having something like the shield would’ve saved John’s life. And then Rodney wouldn’t have to avoid sleeping, because sleep brought dreams of a fiery explosion and the burning agony of loss.

The sad truth of the matter, though, was that he could only stay awake so long. The caffeine and stimulants couldn’t keep his flagging system going indefinitely, and eventually Rodney would face plant on his laptop. And dream.

*o*o*o*

_“There’s an energy reading but it’s pretty faint,” Rodney said, consulting his tablet. “Strange that it didn’t show up earlier.”_

_The team had just finished up negotiations with the Varden, who had some raw materials that Atlantis could certainly use. All they wanted in exchange were some simple tools. On their way back to the Stargate, though, the energy signal had pinged, which meant it needed to be checked out. Standard operating procedure._

_Sheppard squinted up at the bright blue sky and shrugged. “No problem. It’s a nice day. Ronon, you and Teyla head back to the Gate. This shouldn’t take long.”_

_The readings were coming from a pile of stone that had once been a structure of some kind; there were vague indications of walls and a foundation._

_“Boldly exploring new worlds and rockpiles,” Rodney joked. He didn’t mind having some time alone with Sheppard. They had a really good rapport, and of course the Colonel was no hardship on the eyes; Rodney’d been crushing on him now for the better part of two years and nothing much seemed likely to change that. Luckily he was skilled at keeping secrets, be they government or personal._

_“You getting anything on that?” Sheppard slouched against the rock pile – really, the man had the worst posture for a Lieutenant Colonel – and grinned at him like he had nothing else to do all day but stand around in the sun._

_They’d been doing a lot of that look-but-don’t-touch thing lately, which frustrated Rodney to no end. He had the sense that Sheppard was interested in him, at least in a naked bodies kind of way, but he knew nothing would be said, no moves would be made. He’d say the man was a tease, but that wasn’t precisely true; it was more that Sheppard never took anything for himself._

_“Not enough to warrant sifting any of these boulders.” Rodney made a show of scanning the ruins when he was really checking out his teammate. No-one rocked the man in black look quite like Sheppard, particularly with the shades and the P90 strapped to his chest. The P90 that was now coming up in a distinctly unfriendly manner._

_“What’s happening? What’s wrong?” Rodney looked around wildly, his hand on his own weapon._

_“I’ve got a bad feeling.”_

_He’d learned many things since first coming to Atlantis, foremost being that if Sheppard had a gut feeling it was wise not to doubt it. Still, Rodney did a full three-sixty and didn’t see anything._

_“Sheppard?” he hissed._

_“Run!” Sheppard shouted back. Rodney didn’t hesitate; he ran full tilt, slapping at his earpiece as he went to notify Teyla and Ronon that there was trouble. It wasn’t long at all before he realized he was running alone. He skidded almost comically to a stop and whipped around to head back to the ruins._

_“Sheppard! What the hell are you-”_

_The explosion was big and hot and deafening, the shock wave tossing Rodney to the ground hard enough to bruise his tailbone. As soon as he was able he scrambled to his feet and ran, a feeling of dread building inside him. The air was full of rock dust and smoke, choking him, but he could see that the ruins had now been reduced to so much sand, blackened near the heart of the explosion._

_“Sheppard! John!” Rodney screamed, but he wasn’t there._

_Ronon ended up having to practically carry Rodney back through the Gate, and he was sedated almost as soon as he was through the event horizon. Lorne’s team was dispatched, and they conducted a full search of the area. The only things that turned up were Sheppard’s dog tags, random bits of bone, and some of his DNA. Carson speculated that he’d been standing right at ground zero to have even his skeleton so completely obliterated._

_Kate Heightmeyer tried to guide them all through the five stages of grief, but Rodney remained stuck at the second one – anger. Even six months later it hadn’t dimmed, hadn’t dissipated. It was his only defense._

*o*o*o*

Rodney sat in the infirmary, forcing himself to endure Carson’s examination. It was standard for all Gate teams returning from offworld but he hated it. He’d developed an aversion to being touched and it was only Carson’s threats of sedation that kept him from running out. For his part, Carson tried to get through it as quickly as possible.

“You’re all clear, Rodney,” he said finally.

“No kidding,” Rodney snapped. He hopped down from the examining table and left without so much as a backwards glance.

It had been a routine visit with one of their trading partners, no real reason for Rodney to even go, except that sometimes he needed to get away from the city. Not that it much mattered, because there was just as much of John to miss in the field as there was in the halls of Atlantis.

AR-1 had been replaced. After they lost John, Teyla started spending more time with her people and less time in the city. Ronon, too, had starting making more trips offworld; sometimes he was gone for weeks, and no-one was really sure what he was doing out there on his own. They’d both tried to talk to Rodney, to break through the wall he’d constructed around himself, but he knew it was better this way; he needed the space between them, needed the emotional distance. If he hadn’t gotten so chummy with his team he’d never have felt the crippling loss when one of them wasn’t there anymore; he wouldn’t make that mistake again.

 _Dr. McKay, can you please come to the conference room?_ Elizabeth asked over the earpiece.

“Isn’t it a bit soon for my debrief?” he snapped. “I’d like to at least get cleaned up if you don’t mind.”

_I do mind. I need to see you immediately._

Rodney growled but quickly changed direction and headed for the conference room. He hoped he wasn’t due another reaming about his treatment of the science staff. They really were a bunch of crybabies, the way they were always running to Elizabeth with every little thing. He was surprised to see Major Lorne sitting at the conference table. They’d never been the best of friends, more like pleasant acquaintances, but Rodney resented him for taking John’s job. Evan Lorne had many good qualities, but he was no John Sheppard.

“I don’t have time for this, whatever it is,” Rodney said as soon as he was through the door. 

“Sit down, Rodney,” Elizabeth said. There was something not right about her, and Rodney studied her carefully as he took the chair closest to the door. Beneath her placid exterior she seemed to be almost humming like a bit of electric wire. Her eyes were brighter than he’d seen in a long time, not that he generally noticed that kind of thing.

“What? What is it?”

“There’s really no way to ease you into this, so I’ll just say it. Major Lorne’s team returned today from PRX-233 and they brought confirmation. Colonel Sheppard is alive.” She was smiling as she finished that announcement, but it quickly faltered under the power of Rodney’s frown.

“How?” He knew how he sounded, but he wasn’t sure what kind of reaction he was supposed to have to that. Was he surprised? Yes, very much so. But the anger, always so close to the surface, was trying to bubble right out of his skin. His quick mind went through several likely scenarios, including him faking his own death or someone else doing that and taking him against his will. Maybe he’d ascended and had only just come back to his body. 

“The settlement we visited is having a kind of week-long celebration, something like a street fair,” Lorne explained, his tone almost apologetic. “We saw Colonel Sheppard in one of the tents. I presume he’s being held against his will; he looked…not well.” 

“Did you extract him?” Rodney asked tersely. “No, never mind, it’s obvious you didn’t or else he’d be sitting here.”

“We didn’t even alert him to our presence. He’s wearing some sort of electronic collar and we couldn’t be sure what it might do to him if we tried to intervene.”

Elizabeth cleared her throat. “I’d like you to go with the rescue team, Rodney. You’re their best hope of figuring out that collar and removing it without causing any additional harm to Colonel Sheppard.”

Rodney knew it was wrong but he couldn’t help the gleeful feeling that rose up in him. Finally – _finally!_ – he’d have someone to aim his rage at, someone who could pay for the way he’d been feeling for the last six months. Of course rescuing John would be good, too, but he was really hoping for some hand-to-hand combat.

“When do we leave?” he asked, ignoring the uneasy look that Elizabeth shared with Lorne.

*o*o*o*

Rodney and the rest of the team had been fully briefed on the situation. Major Lorne had left a couple Marines back on PRX-233 to keep an eye on John. Before he and the rest of his team had left, Lorne had done some surreptitious questioning to gather more information; it was smart, and it really burned Rodney to have to praise the man.

John had been captured by the Varden, only to be sold to a third party who had need of someone with the Ancient gene. It wasn’t clear what, precisely, they were using him for but Rodney suspected whoever had him also had some Ancient tech that had heretofore been useless to them. Ironic, considering how much he always bitched about being treated like a human light switch.

“Bring him back,” Elizabeth said, and it wasn’t clear if she was addressing the entire team, or maybe just Lorne. It didn’t matter. Rodney knew they’d bring John home, regardless of the shape he was in; in the two hours it had taken to get an extraction team put together and make a plan he’d thought of nothing else. Well, maybe that and a bit of revenge. 

Chuck finished the dialing sequence and the Stargate came to life with a bright, liquid whoosh. Rodney didn’t wait; he was the first one through. There was a brief pulling, flying sensation, and then he was stepping out onto the planet and into a light rain shower. He brought the gun up immediately and scanned for hostile natives, but the coast was clear.  
By the time the rest of the team joined him Rodney had his scanner out and was taking readings. All offworld teams now carried the enhanced scanners, which had been one of the first things Rodney had worked on after the explosion. In addition to reading life signs, now they also detected a full range of non-biologicals including weaponry and explosives.

Lorne took point and Rodney followed along behind. He felt itchy and uncomfortable in his own skin, and his mind was whirling. While he mentally thought through all possible configurations for a restraining collar, he also considered the possibility that the person they were going to rescue wasn’t really John Sheppard. He could very well be a Replicator, a look-alike, or perhaps even a Sheppard from an alternate universe. 

“You know this could be a trap,” he said to Lorne, keeping his voice down. “We don’t know if he’s the real Sheppard, and even if he is, someone could be using him to get to me.”

“That’s why you’re here, Doc,” Lorne replied. “If he’s not who we think he is, you’ll know.”

Damn. Why did Lorne have to exhibit so much intelligence? It was easier to hate him when he acted like a stupid Marine. Rodney kept one hand firmly on his gun while the other swung the scanner around. He had a knife in his boot, another strapped to the inside of his arm, and one in his tac vest; he was ready for any eventuality and he hoped that whoever had the Sheppard look-alike wanted to tussle, because he was more than ready to throw down.

It wasn’t a very far walk to the town hosting the street fair. Like most of the settlements in the Pegasus galaxy, this one was had a middle-ages feel to it. Thatched room homes, cobblestone streets, and people wearing rough-hewn fabrics in earthy colors. The main thoroughfare was festooned with awnings and banners that fluttered in the light breeze. The rain didn’t seem to deter anyone as they went from tent to tent, examining wares or getting a bit of food. There were at least four vendors offering something hot and roasted, one vendor with fruit-laden tables and another with cheese and smoked meats.

Rodney didn’t give the food tents a second glance. He’d already caught sight of the men Lorne had left behind, even though they wore homespun cloaks to try and cover their military garb. They signaled to Lorne, who in turn signaled to the others. Three of the men dispersed to cover the perimeter while Lorne, Rodney and two others went to rendezvous with the Marines that had been standing watch.

“Elkins, report.”

“Sir. Colonel Sheppard is still in the same tent. He was brought out for approximately thirty-five minutes by a man with a tattoo on his face. The Colonel was brought to a person selling odds and ends, some of which looked Ancient in design.”

“Light switch duty,” Rodney muttered. Lorne gave him a look.

“The tattooed man purchased several pieces and then took Colonel Sheppard back to the tent.”

“Is he alone in there now?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Where is it?” Rodney asked. Elkins gestured toward a side road off the main street. There were several tents set up down there.

“It’s the blue one, Sir.”

Rodney turned to Lorne. “I’m going in. I’ll run the scan first before I mess with the collar. Try not to attract too much attention.”

Lorne nodded. “I’ll have my men guard both ends of the street; if you need us, signal and we’ll be there in seconds.”

With a sharp nod, Rodney headed for the blue tent. He did a quick scan from outside, determining a single human life sign emanating from within. The scanner also picked up a small stash of something weapon-like, guns or arrows, maybe. He pulled the knife out of his boot – it was one of Ronon’s wicked-looking blades, heavy in his hand – because he didn’t want to take the chance of firing the P90 in such close proximity.

Cautiously he pulled aside one of the cloth flaps that acted as a door and stepped in. The tent itself wasn’t very big, maybe a meter square, and lit by a hanging lantern at the apex of the roof. There were two cots, a trunk, a small table, and someone that looked very much like John Sheppard. Rodney’s breath caught in his throat, and his stomach clenched so tightly that for a moment he was worried he might vomit.

The person that might or might not be his missing military commander was sitting on a three legged stool at the table, sorting through a box of random Ancient tech, though some of it looked more like rusted engine parts. He was wearing a simple tunic and pants, both in a bland shade of tan, and there was a thick metal collar around his neck that had several blinking lights on it. Lorne had been right about one thing; Sheppard looked like hell. He was too thin, his hair too long, his face unshaven like it had been when they’d rescued him from the time dilation field.

The scanner made a noise, just a small bleep, but it immediately got John’s attention. His head came up and his eyes widened comically. He stared at Rodney, who stared right back.

“Don’t move,” he said, brandishing the knife. “I need to get a complete reading on you.”

John just nodded, and let Rodney get closer with the scanner. He was scanning as human, not Replicator, but there was no way to determine if he was from a different universe; Rodney mentally kicked himself for not thinking to include that.

_Dr. McKay, sitrep._

“I’m fine. Now shut up and let me work.” Rodney tapped the radio with the hand holding the knife and nearly sliced his own head open. 

“It’s really you,” John said. His voice was hoarse and rough, like he hadn’t used it in a while, and he was grinning. “I knew you’d find me!”

Rodney’s skin flushed with heat. He sounded just like Sheppard, and he had to admit the very real possibility that it was Sheppard, his Sheppard. Not that it mattered, because he firmly told himself he didn’t care. Caring was for the old Rodney.

“How does the collar work?” he snapped.

“Rodney, I-”

“The collar, Sheppard. How does it work?”

That took some of the light out of John’s eyes, and he seemed confused by Rodney’s behavior. “Brills. He has a remote.”

“Electric shock?”

John nodded.

“Amateur.” Rodney scanned the collar as well before he put the device aside and pulled out his small toolkit. With equipment of this kind a gentle touch and delicate instruments were called for, and luckily he had both. He circled around behind John and found the small access panel that would let him take a look at the guts of the thing, and disable it. 

“I didn’t think it would take so long, waiting for my big rescue.” John’s tone was light, but Rodney could hear the heavy emotion beneath it. Had he given up on being found? Did he think he was never going to see Atlantis again? The anger rose up and Rodney lashed out at John, because he was the only one there.

“We thought you were dead.” He removed the final tiny screw from the access panel and pried it off. “The Varden did a great job of making you disappear; just enough left behind to make an ID, so don’t go thinking we’ve been scouring the universe looking for you. Finding you here was a fluke, that’s all.”

Rodney regretted the words as soon as he spoke them, but it was too late to take them back. John’s shoulders stiffened and Rodney could only guess what expression must be on his face. There was no reason to take his anger out on John, who had clearly been forced into servitude; surely he was feeling bad enough already at having been abandoned for six months, wearing a shock collar like someone’s dog.

The wiring inside the collar was pretty standard; nothing particularly elegant though it had clearly been jury rigged at some point in the past by someone with questionable electronics skills. Rodney snipped a few wires and the collar popped open with a metallic clank. Before Rodney could make a move towards it, John ripped it off and threw it across the tent.

“Jesus,” Rodney whispered. John’s neck was banded in electrical burns, all of them scarred, none of them fresh. Definitely not a willing captive, though there was no reason to assume he would’ve been; John had always displayed a remarkable lack of concern for his own health and well-being.

He tilted and turned his head, rubbing at his neck with one hand as the joints popped. Rodney turned away to repack his toolkit, and was startled when he came face to face with a large man who had blue tribal tattoos all over his face.

“Brills, I presume?”

After that things happened fast. John was on his feet in an instant, fear on his face even as he moved to intercede, but Rodney had already pulled his P90 and smashed Tattoo in the face with the butt of the gun. He didn’t even have the thought to call for backup – and how had this guy gotten through without being seen? Rodney’s whole head filled with pleasant white noise as he finally got the confrontation he’d been waiting so long for.

Brills clapped one hand to his face, covering his gushing nose, and swung his other hand towards the side of Rodney’s head; he ducked and swept the bigger man’s feet out from under him. Brills went down with a satisfying thud and grunted as the air went out of his lungs.

John was saying something, very loudly, but Rodney was barely aware of him at all. He straddled Brills and brought the butt of the gun down a second time; the crunch of bone came through loud and clear, and brought with it a wave of incredible satisfaction. Every new blow was a small bit of revenge. _This_ was for treating John like an animal. _This_ was for taking him away from Rodney, from Atlantis, from the only people who understood and loved him. _This_ was for leaving Rodney bereft and alone and simmering in emotions he never wanted to experience.

By the time John grabbed hold of Rodney and hauled him off Brills the tattoos had been obliterated, as had much of the man’s face. Rodney looked down at the disgusting mass of blood, bone and shredded flesh and felt…nothing. Absolutely nothing. John kept an arm wrapped around Rodney’s chest as he plucked the earpiece off his ear and called for Lorne. 

Rodney’s chest heaved with exertion but he made no effort to move. Now that Brills had been dealt with, he was already putting a plan into action to take care of the Varden; they needed to be punished for stealing John and selling him off like a used piece of furniture, and he already had several ideas how he could make that happen.

Lorne burst in with two Marines, coming up short when he took in the sight of Brill’s body and Rodney standing there with, he belatedly realized, with blood spattered all over him. The Marines exchanged a fleeting look that Rodney saw nonetheless, and figured he’d just confirmed the general opinion that Dr. McKay had lost his mind.

“You okay, Dr. McKay?” Lorne asked, using the voice he normally reserved for twitchy natives. The words were for Rodney but his eyes kept darting over to look at John.

“Fine. Where the hell were your Marines, Major? I thought you had both access points covered, but this asshole walked right in.” Rodney pulled away from John and dropped the P90 on the floor with a clunk. “Do you know what could’ve happened to Sheppard because you dropped the ball?”

“Rodney,” John said. “That’s enough.”

“I’ll be at the Gate,” Rodney said abruptly. He retrieved the knife he’d set down while he was working on the collar and stuffed it back in his boot. “I’ll call ahead and have Carson get ready for Colonel Sheppard.”

He strode out of the tent, leaving Lorne to deal with John.

*o*o*o*

Rodney was able to slip away back on Atlantis while everyone crowded around John. They hugged him and cried and patted him vigorously on the back, and Rodney wanted no part of it. He was feeling a little shaky and a lot exhausted, no doubt an adrenalin crash after his run-in with Brills; his mind shied away from thinking too much about what he’d done. It wasn’t that he felt remorse, exactly, but it wasn’t like him to act with that kind of violence and knowing that he could made him feel a little sick.

He ignored all of Carson’s requests to come to the infirmary to be checked out. No doubt Lorne or John had told all, but Rodney didn’t feel the need to be poked and prodded when he felt perfectly fine. All he needed was a little sleep, and time to assimilate the fact that John wasn’t dead at all, never had been.

Despite Rodney’s exhaustion, though, sleep wasn’t easily come by. He lay in bed for over an hour, tossing and turning, his mind whirring with images from the last few hours and simulation results for the personal shield and a hundred other things. He gave up on rest and got up, putting on his uniform and slinking through the halls to get to his lab. Only somehow he ended up in the infirmary, skulking around out of sight until he was sure the coast was clear.

Carson had kept John, as Rodney knew he would. He was asleep on one of the beds, dressed in blue scrubs and hooked to an IV, his face pinched and drawn. Rodney sidled closer, ready to duck out of sight at the first hint of a nurse, and took a long moment to look down at his friend even though it made his chest hurt. The lights had been dimmed but the scars around John’s neck stood out, still too shiny, pulling at the undamaged skin. Rodney felt a surge of savage satisfaction for the revenge he’d gotten on John’s behalf.

John shifted on the bed, a low moan escaping him as his brow furrowed even more. He was either in pain or dreaming of it, and without a second thought Rodney reached out and placed his hand on John’s forehead. He felt warm but not feverish, and he immediately turned into the touch, some of the tension bleeding out of his face as he huffed out a breath and seemed to settle back into a deeper sleep.

Rodney heard someone coming and made good his escape, though he wished he didn’t have to. He could handle John while he was asleep, but he had no idea what to do with him when he woke up. Surely there’d be questions, or accusations; he hadn’t forgotten what he’d said to John in the tent, how he’d purposefully hurt him with the knowledge that he’d been abandoned and forgotten. It was probably for the best. Rodney couldn’t afford to get any more invested, had to put an end to their friendship if he had any hope of taking back control of his life, his emotions.

“Goodbye, John,” he whispered as he left.

*o*o*o*

Life was complicated. It was messy, and unpredictable, and no amount of math or science or logic could be applied to it to make it nice and tidy. This was an immutable fact, but Rodney still seethed about it anyway. Carson had corralled him in his labs, doing his physical check-in there while Radek just shook his head and kept working. Heightmeyer tried contacting him several times but she was much easier to avoid. He’d e-mailed his report to Elizabeth to keep from having to talk to her and hear her lecture him yet again about his behavior.

Teyla had come back to see John, which Rodney only heard about because he was very skillfully avoiding everyone. He supposed it was only a matter of time before Ronon got word and cut his latest jaunt short. The whole team, back together again like nothing happened. Rodney wasn’t interested, and just because he was keeping track of John’s health and wellness remotely meant nothing, other than he was invested in making sure the military leader – which he would be, once Heightmeyer cleared him for active duty – of Atlantis was in top form.

It was all too easy to keep out of the way of people he didn’t want to see, thanks to judicious hacking of the security systems and his smaller, more compact life signs detector which was set to notify him when selected individuals were headed his way. He still had plenty of time to harass his science staff, and unless he was mistaken they were cowering even more than usual since his return from PRX-233; clearly one of the Marines had been telling the tale of Rodney’s rage explosion, which was fine with him if it motivated his staff.

John spent two days in the infirmary, and then was scheduled with Heightmeyer for daily sessions. Rodney presumed she was making sure he was fit for duty and not suffering too many ill effects from his servitude. The anger, which he thought he’d bled out successfully, hadn’t gone anywhere as it turned out. It still churned in his guts, making him snappish and prone to fits of frustration that usually ended with something getting smashed or damaged.

“That is it. Get out!” Radek shouted at him after the fourth day of scientists running for cover from whatever projectile Rodney had close at hand. “You are disruptive and I am tired of staff running to me with complaints.”

His hair stood up in agitated wisps and he whipped off his glasses, cleaning them with the edge of his shirt. Rodney glowered at him, but Radek was the only one who never showed any fear; the little Czech bastard could be fierce in his own right.

“If they weren’t so incompetent…”

“No. Out. Go see Dr. Heightmeyer or go to gym, but whatever your problem is fix it before you cause mutiny.” They glared at each other and Rodney was the first one to give in and turn away; he told himself it was just because he needed a break anyway. He grabbed his laptop and headed to his quarters. He’d get more work done there, without a bunch of incompetents whining and complaining about every little thing.

He got right back to his personal shield work, determined to get that finished so he could move on to the next thing, like blowing up the Varden’s Gate or dropping a bomb on them. Soon enough he was immersed in his equations and didn’t surface for almost four hours; when he did, he was triumphant.

“I’ve got it! Ha!” Rodney smacked his hand on the desk, grinning even as he straightened his spine and listened to it pop. He’d found a way to make the power source self-renewing, using a combination of the body’s own electromagnetic field and thermal energy. If the shield emitter was placed against the skin, instead of on an article of clothing, it could draw enough energy to constantly recharge itself. Now that he’d overcome the power source problem, it was just a matter of tweaking the device so that it came with a failsafe switch that would turn it off if the user became unconscious; it would be hard to help an injured teammate if they weren’t able to turn the field off.

Rodney saved his work and then stood, stretching even more and wincing at the pain in his lower back. He needed to order a more ergonomic desk chair for his quarters, and made a mental note to do just that before the next Daedalus supply run. 

He thought about heading to the mess for some food – he had no idea what time it even was – but he was too tired. Instead he wolfed down a Power Bar as he got undressed and then crawled into bed. He was asleep almost as soon as his head touched the pillow.

*o*o*o*

_Rodney walked into the tent, knife in one hand and scanner in the other. It was so dim inside that he couldn’t make out anything, except for the table John sat at, which was bathed in light from several large candles. The table was littered with dead shield emitters, at least thirty of them in a big heap. John sat looking down at them, the collar on his neck gleaming in the candlelight._

_“I waited for you.”_

_“I’m here,” Rodney replied, hand tightening on the knife. Anyone could be hiding in the shadows, waiting to jump out at him._

_“You never came.”_

_“I’m here.”_

_“It’s too late.” John looked up, looked right at him with a desolate expression that made Rodney catch his breath in dismay. “You waited too long.”_

_One shadow pulled away from the others and resolved itself into the shape of a man, a large, bald man with blue tattoos on his face. He put on proprietary hand on John’s shoulder and brandished a wand-like piece of metal in the other. Rodney made an abortive move to stop him, but the man pointed the wand at John and pressed a button. Immediately John’s back bowed as the collar flared to life, glowing blue and crackling with electricity._

_“No! Stop!” Rodney shouted, to no avail. The big man’s grip kept John in the chair, writhing in agony. He bit his tongue, hard enough to send blood streaming from his mouth and down his chin. Rodney could smell his flesh burning. “Please! Please stop!”_

_He tried to get to John, tried to do something useful, but he was frozen in place. Finally the collar was deactivated, and John fell out of the chair and on to the floor, where he lay twitching and moaning, blood foaming at the corners of his mouth. Rodney fell to his knees, the only movement he could make, and tried to reach for John; he wasn’t close enough, no matter how far he stretched out his arm._

_“I’m sorry!” Rodney cried; his vision blurring as tears fell. “I’m sorry! I’m…”_

“Sorry!” Rodney shouted, jerking awake and nearly falling out of bed. His heart was hammering in his chest, so loud it sounded almost like…

“McKay!” John called through the door, which he’d been pounding on. 

A quick glance at the clock had Rodney flailing out of bed and cursing as he thought the door open; he’d personally rigged it to keep Colonel Super Gene from just walking through whenever he wanted.

“Are you insane?” Rodney finally made it to his feet and yanked John through the door, which closed behind him. “You’ll wake everyone up!”

It was a token protest; when Rodney had chosen to change quarters, he moved up to a floor that was uninhabited. Which was something John probably knew, if he’d looked up Rodney’s new address.

“What are you doing here? It’s the middle of the night.” Rodney grabbed a t-shirt from the pile on the floor and shrugged it on; he didn’t like feeling so exposed in front of John.

“You’ve been avoiding me.” John wandered around the room, picking things up and putting them back down again. Sometime in the last few days he’d shaved off the beard. “I thought you’d moved into a bigger room.”

Rodney gestured to the balcony but didn’t follow him out. He watched John, who was still too thin, stand there looking out at the city. How many times had the two of them hung out together on balconies and piers? Rodney had always secretly pictured John like Batman, high atop a building so he could look down on Gotham City, surveying all that was his. Atlantis had been John’s since he first stepped out of the Gate and all the lights came on for him. He fit there somehow, in a way Rodney suspected he didn’t back on Earth; it wasn’t right, being on Atlantis without him.

“Nice view,” John said when he came back in. His color was back, and he didn’t look quite so haggard to Rodney’s keen eye, but he was still clearly exhausted.

Rodney just shrugged, and the action seemed to draw John’s attention to his chest. He looked down at himself and realized he’d forgotten to tuck his dog tags under his t-shirt; he almost never had them out for public view, and felt a little self-conscious about them now.

“When did the civilian staff start wearing these?” John asked. He edged closer and Rodney fought the urge to back away. 

“Four months ago.”

“Can I?” John asked, reaching out.

Rodney wanted to say no, but he’d never been very good at denying John. He stood very still while John cupped the tags in his hand, looking at them one at a time. The top tag was red, and listed Rodney’s citrus allergy and hypoglycemia. Below that was his standard-issue – name, SGC ID number, and which science division he worked out of. The last tag on the chain was twisted and blackened, but John’s name was still clear enough to read. The companion tag had been sent home with John’s meager personal effects, presumably to his father. 

“A lot changed while I was gone.” John released the tags and Rodney hastily tucked them away. “Carson says you’re working to make the offworld teams indestructible.”

“Too little, too late,” Rodney said, and the bitterness in his own voice took him by surprise. John looked at him sharply, but didn’t say anything. The silence spun out between them and it wasn’t at all comfortable, as it once had been. There were six months of regret and absence between them now, six months without movie nights or RC car races or dangerous missions or shared meals. Rodney felt each and every day of it like a weight across his shoulders; the burden of life without John.

“So,” John said hesitantly. “Are you…uh…you know. Okay?”

Rodney felt his skin flush, hot and achy. “Okay? Why the hell would I be okay? You were _dead_ , Sheppard! We had a fucking memorial service and people _cried_ over you!”

John winced. “Well, I wasn’t dead.”

“But you _should_ have been!” Rodney snapped, hands clenched painfully at his sides. “A thousand times over you should’ve died since we came here, and every time you walk away, _every time_. But I didn’t believe it this time. I didn’t believe it and you…you suffered. Because of _me_.”

In his mind the dream echoed and he had to look away from John’s hurt expression and his scarred neck and his too-lean body. It was a hell of a time for personal revelations, but he suddenly realized that all the anger that had been twisting him up inside was aimed at himself. Not the Varden or Brills or Lorne; just himself.

“I gave up,” he said, his voice cracking. It was horrible, saying it out loud. “I gave up on you, and you never would’ve done that. Never _have_ done that. Why would I do that? _Why?_ ”

Rodney dropped down on his bed, head in his hands and elbows on his knees. It didn’t make any sense to him. John was his best friend, had been even more than that in Rodney’s secret imaginings, and he’d written him off so easily. No questions asked. What kind of monster did that make him?

The bed dipped as John sat beside him; Rodney didn’t dare look up, didn’t want to see the expression that must be on his face. Someone that embraced the philosophy of ‘no man left behind’ surely wouldn’t be able to make sense of what Rodney had done; hell, _he_ couldn’t even make sense of it.

“I never had friends before,” he said, mumbling at the floor. “I never wanted them, never saw the point. I had my work, and that was all I needed. But here…here I was part of a team. And for some reason you decided you wanted to be my friend. I thought it was good, but then you were gone and…and it all…it was too _hard_. I can’t do that again.”

“Rodney, Teyla told me what happened.” John’s voice was hushed and there was an undercurrent of something in it that Rodney couldn’t identify. “If I’d been in your place, I probably would’ve believed I was dead too.”

“No you _wouldn’t!_ ” Rodney snapped. He got back to his feet, too agitated to sit still anymore. “All I could do was close the barn door after the horse got out. I amped up the scanners, insisted on weapons training for all civilians. I _just_ figured out how to make the personal shield emitters work so that no-one has to get blown up or shot or fed off of anymore. I don’t know what else to do!”

He spun on his heel, and turned right into John, almost knocking the other man off his feet. John grabbed hold of his elbows, steadying both of them, and dipped his head down to press his lips against Rodney’s. There was nothing gentle or sweet about it; John was practically mauling him, his mouth hard and insistent. 

As suddenly as he’d descended, John just as quickly pulled back. He was breathing heavily and he looked pained, his eyes swimming with tears. He tried to back up, step away, but Rodney had his hands fisted in the back of John’s shirt and he didn’t let go.

“John?”

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” John dropped his head to Rodney’s shoulder, trembling under his hands. “I’m just…I’m _so_ tired. I can’t sleep. And I tried to get home. I tried.”

Rodney’s chest was so tight he didn’t know how he was still breathing. He loosened his grip and started rubbing his hands up and down John’s back in a feeble attempt to soothe him. The guilt was eating him alive. John’s burns…of course they’d be from escape attempts; he’d never just sit and wait, not John. Not Colonel Heroic.

“John…”

“If I wasn’t so tired I’d be pissed at you, Rodney. You forgot all about me.” The words were muttered against his shoulder. 

Rodney felt a little nauseous. He wanted to tell John that it wasn’t true, because it _wasn’t_. He hadn’t forgotten John, not for one second of one day. Every single thing he’d done for the betterment of Atlantis, for the safety of the offworld teams, had been for John. Every incompetent scientist fired, every trigger-happy Marine reported…all for him.

He pulled the dog tags out and John tipped his head back enough to look at them. “I didn’t. I _couldn’t_. This was the last piece of you I had, and I kept it close. I kept _you_ close. I just…I just didn’t believe.”

John touched a finger to the dog tags. “I thought about you every day,” he whispered.

“Me, too.”

“I’m so tired.”

“Yeah.” Rodney pressed a kiss to John’s forehead, and moved him back towards the bed. “Come on. Let’s see if we can get some sleep.”

He pulled off John’s boots, which never seemed to be laced anyway, and pushed him down on the bed. Rodney joined him and they shuffled around until they found a position that John seemed comfortable with; Rodney spooned up behind him, holding him tightly.

“I can’t give you those six months back,” he said softly. “I can’t do that for either of us, and I’m so sorry. But…”

“But?” John prompted.

“Maybe we can start over. Do things different.” Rodney knew what he was asking, knew he didn’t deserve it. But John did. John deserved everything, and Rodney wanted to give it to him.

“You killed him,” John said.

“I did.”

“We’re gonna have to talk about it.”

“But not today.”

John nodded, his hair brushing against Rodney’s neck. “Not today.”

Rodney closed his eyes, awash in gratitude, and for the first time in a very long time, he was able to relax enough to fall into a deep dreamless sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **AN:** This one is all my hubby’s fault. I was dozing in the car and this song came up on his playlist. I started thinking of a scenario where Rodney would get all angry and violent, and this is what I came up with.
> 
> I’ve read some really good fics where Rodney’s darker side comes out, and I truly believe he has one in there. As do we all, really. He just needed a little push to get it to come out.


	13. Reflections

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Drabble

Rodney looked up at the mirror on the ceiling, which was badly in need of cleaning. He saw himself reflected back, John cradled in his arms as he slept fitfully. How long had he waited for this day? He wished the circumstances were different.

The hotel was beyond seedy but it wasn’t like Rodney had a lot of options. They had to lay low, especially while John was still healing.

He made a pained sound and Rodney kissed his forehead.

“It’s okay,” he whispered. “I’ve got you.”

The mirror reflected back the love he felt for John, fear and all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **AN:** I needed a challenge. So I thought, why not try writing a drabble? I tend to be incredibly wordy with my fic writing, so keeping to just 100 seemed impossible. My platonic life partner, smiles2go, gave me a prompt (Rodney looks in a mirror) and this is what I came up with. So...not bad for a first try?
> 
> And just FYI: All future fics in this fandom will be posted independently to make them easier to find, instead of filed away in here. Thanks so much for all the kudos, reviews and love!!

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Sight Unseen [Podfic]](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3280739) by [librarychick_94](https://archiveofourown.org/users/librarychick_94/pseuds/librarychick_94)




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